


The Gift of Stars

by Tokkida



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Depression, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Multi, Psychological Drama, Science Fiction, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 59,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5403782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tokkida/pseuds/Tokkida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman Reigns, a pipeliner stationed at a well on the outskirts of Wellsboro, West Virginia, is just trying to get by.  Bogged down by a nagging injury and the homesickness he feels for Florida, Seth—a bartender at the Piper’s Pit—and Dean—his recluse best friend—try to help him make it through.  However, the pair might just be keeping a deep, life-altering secret from him.  Multiple pairings past and present.  Ambreigns endgame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wellsboro

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the overwhelming support of my wonderful friends houndsheart, raesummer, and spanishfanito on tumblr, I've decided to re-post and continue with this story. It's a long, winding tale with many twists, turns, and mind-fucks, but in the end, it'll all make sense.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read this fic so far, and much love from the bottom of my heart to my supporters.

The Piper’s Pit wasn’t the biggest attraction in Wellsboro, but with a population of only thirty-three hundred, it quickly became the local “watering hole.”  The Pit was more of a hole-in-the-wall than anything else, cramped uncomfortably between a small barber shop (the only one within a 50 mile radius where you could get an outstanding straight-razor shave) and an adult video store complete with flashing, neon triple X’s in the window. 

At first glance, the gathering ground was nothing to write home about.  As soon as you stepped foot into the bar, your sinuses were immediately attacked by the pungent plume of stale cigarette smoke and skunk beer.  The hardwood floor boasted scuffed battle scars from frequent drunken brawls, and the bare brick walls were littered with peeling sports posters and years-outdated local ads.  The tables were rickety, the barstools duct-taped beyond repair, and the single toilet in the men’s restroom threatened to overflow after every flush.  But the one redeeming quality of the seemingly seedy lounge was, of course, the comfort. 

After a long day’s toiling in the gas fields high on the ridges outside of town, the hard-hatted men in their white, company-issued pick-up trucks would wind their way down the steep trails in a rumbling herd and line up across the street.  Stumbling across the road in a pack of laughter, the laborers would file into the bar, claiming their seats and opening tabs all around.  

It was nights like those that Seth’s tip jar overflowed, stuffed to the brim with crumpled dollar bills and loose change. 

The two-toned bartender worked himself into a sweat, constantly reaching into the coolers behind him for long-necked bottles of Budweiser and sliding them across the counter and into the meaty grips of thirsty customers.  The overhead speakers kicked into action, pulsing with the top Country & Western hits of the decade as Seth powered on the stereo under the counter before turning to take inventory of the brightly colored liquor bottles lining the shelves behind him.  His pen scratched against the notepad in his hand as he mentally took note of the current stock.  He glanced over his shoulder-- pleased as the bar’s patrons seemed to be content for the time being-- before rushing off into the back-room to grab the needed supplies.

“Can I get some service out here?” A gruff voiced called from the other side of the counter, and Seth rolled his eyes, stuffing bottles of Bacardi and Kahlua in his arms before retreating from the storage area.

“Little early tonight, Ambrose,” Seth muttered as he set the bottles on the counter and grabbed a tumbler from the stack beside them.  He shoveled a scoop of ice into the glass and poured a finger of Jack over it, the warm liquid popping against the chilly cubes.  Before he could grab the soda gun, Ambrose snatched his wrist with a smirk.

“Hold the Coke tonight, pretty boy.”

Seth shook the offending appendage off of his arm and topped the glass off with another couple fingers of the amber liquid, shoving it at the other man with a quick glare.  He turned back toward the bottles he’d retrieved and twisted the caps off, tossing them in the trash before inserting the pourers and lining them up along the shelf.

“No, no, Sethie.  I said ‘hold the Coke’,” Ambrose chided behind the rim of his glass, pale blue eyes twinkling with mischief.  Seth rolled his own chocolate orbs for the second time that evening and grabbed another tumbler off the counter, filling it to the brim with the caramel-colored soda.

“You know, that joke wasn’t funny the first time you made it, Dean” the bartender grumbled, holding the glass up for his customer to see.

“And yet you go along with it anyway,” the man retorted, downing his drink with lightning speed and slamming it on the counter.  “How about another?”

Seth gritted his teeth and flipped his own glass, filling the auburn haired man’s with the bubbly soda.  “Finish it, then maybe.”

“Yes, mom.”

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, Dean nursing his sweating glass of Coke as Seth kicked back into customer-service mode, swiftly mixing cocktails and pouring shots as more customers filed into the lounge.  The bartender wiped his brow after finishing off a Mojito with a sprig of fresh mint and began to wipe down the counter.  He chanced a glance at his lone customer sitting at the bar who was seemingly occupied with staring pensively into the half-empty glass in front of him.  Seth sighed and tossed the towel over his shoulder, resting his elbows on the counter and leaning forward to be heard over the crowd.  “Where’s your twin?”

Dean looked up after a moment and shrugged.  “Roman?  Probably went home.”

“Today was his last day, right?” Seth questioned, quirking a brow.

“Yeah,” the other man replied, hunching his shoulders, worry showing itself in the thin lines on his forehead, “guess he took it rough.  Having to quit and all.”

“Well, he still gets to work in the office, though, right?  Probably be a hell of a lot better on his knee than being out there in the field,” the bartender offered.

“Yeah, it will be,” Dean started, lifting his empty glass and rattling the few cubes left in the bottom, “how about another, Mr. Rollins?”

Seth smirked and grabbed the proffered vessel, emptying the melting ice into the sink with a _clunk_ and topping it off, this time with a generous helping of soda.  Dean knit his brows together in confusion, but the other man stopped him before he could begin to protest.  “Nah, man.  The night’s still young, and as much as I’d love to see you leave, I’d rather not set your mope-y ass out on the streets just yet.  You gonna behave tonight?”

Dean’s lips turned up in a crooked smile, and he raised two fingers in a crude salute. “Scout’s honor.”

“Yeah, yeah, likely story,” a deep voice grumbled behind the auburn as a large, warm hand settled on his shoulder. 

Dean cocked his head slightly and glanced up into the steely gray eyes of his best friend. “Didn’t think you’d make it tonight, Ro,” he winked, patting the barstool beside him.

Roman huffed out a laugh and hopped up beside his friend, groaning deeply as he settled onto the rickety seat.  Dean shot a knowing glance the man’s way and signaled for Seth to grab a couple lagers from the cooler.  “And miss my pity party?  What kind of friend would I be?”

Seth popped the top off of one of the chilly bottles and slid it across the counter.  “Ah, shit, Dean.  Should I call the stripper to cancel?  I knew it was a bad idea to put that deposit down.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. “Apparently Mr. Reigns isn’t in the mood for any fun tonight,” he chided, knocking elbows with the raven-haired Samoan beside him, “and to think Candy was gonna come in all the way from Charleston just for _your_ benefit.”

The taller man rolled his eyes and nodded a ‘thanks’ to the bartender before taking a hard swig from the icy bottle of Yuengling.  “Well, sadly for her, she’s gonna have to find another willing participant.”

A whistle signaled for Seth to get back to work, and he excused himself from the pair before heading down the bar toward the waiting crowd of thirsty patrons.  Dean reached into the pocket of his faded leather jacket, re-emerging with a crumpled pack of cigarettes.  He pulled a cancer stick from the pack, setting it to his lips and lighting the tip with a quick spark.  He sucked in a deep lungful of the pungent smoke and tipped his head back to blow it out, a bluish halo encircling him like a wreath.  Roman groaned beside him, and he cracked open a euphorically closed eye, watching the other man gently rub his right knee through the dirty green corduroys.

“Bad today?” Dean questioned, nodding at the injured joint.

Roman sighed and dug his fingers into the swelled kneecap, grabbing the bottle of lager and taking another comforting gulp.  “Overdid myself.  Wanted to let them know I wasn’t down for the count.”

“You and your damn ego,” the scruffy man muttered, taking another drag off his smoke, “Just because you can’t work in the field anymore, doesn’t mean you’re useless.”

“Rather be dead” the Samoan replied darkly, finishing off the bottle and reaching for the next. 

Dean grabbed his wrist, thumb gently brushing over the warm pulse point beneath it.  “I could do it, ya know.  Want me to?  Take you out into the alley, break your neck… leave you for dead?  Or better yet,” he chuckled, pink tongue darting out to trace along his plump bottom lip, “lay you out right here?  Break that bottle and slit your throat with it?  Let you bleed out over the counter while Seth screams like a bitch?  Jesus, the mess would be worth it, though.  Could you see it?  You’re a big guy.  He’d be trying to clean up for weeks.” 

Roman shuddered slightly, steely eyes locking with the other’s baby blues while his heartbeat quickened in anticipation for the strike.  “You say that, but this,” Dean whispered, pressing gently on the rapidly pulsing vein, “this says otherwise.”

“You’re not right, you know that?” Ro laughed uncomfortably, shaking the hand off.

“Mmm,” the other man replied, leaning back and scratching at the exposed expanse of belly his shirt left as it rode up, “but you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Roman didn’t have to reply.  Dean could see straight through him, and it would do the man no good to deny that fact.  Before he met the so-called “lunatic fringe,” life had been, well, dreadfully dull.  Get up, go to work, come home, eat, sleep, and so on.  A broken record of a day that kept repeating itself as the needle scratched deeper and deeper under his skin.  It wasn’t until one evening that Roman had had enough.  Sitting in a pathetic state of cracker crumbs and empty water bottles while the local news anchors reported the same boring stories on the television, he came to the conclusion that something had to give.  He pushed himself up off of the threadbare sofa in his measly apartment, threw on the black leather jacket hanging beside the door, and let himself out into the chilly mountain air.  Looking around, he noticed the lack of bustle and sighed deeply. 

Wellsboro was definitely unlike anywhere he’d lived before.  The man was homesick, longing for the palm trees and salty ocean breezes of his hometown.  Lazy days on the beach followed by endless nights around the fire pit with his extensive family.  Gorgeously tanned beauties in sundresses and the quirky shops on Quitewater Boardwalk.  Wellsboro was quite the opposite.  Instead of swaying palms and gentle breezes, he had ragged oaks and stinging gusts.  Long hours in the field and an empty apartment to face each night.  Busty blondes decked out in camouflage and a main strip that consisted of nothing but a few run-down shops.  His life was flipped upside-down, and Roman was clawing desperately for something that resembled normalcy.

Until he met Dean.

* * *

 

_Roman’s boots crunched over the packed snow as he trudged toward the dimly lit gas station in the distance.  The cold hurt-- froze him half to death and chilled the man down to the bone.  He pulled the lapels of his jacket up and bowed his head against the icy breeze, black mane whipping around in long curls.  He dreamt of the Florida coastline, willing the freezing white bullshit to become warm, golden sand.  The sky a beautiful cerulean, puffy clouds lazily rolling across the azure expanse while the sun shone brightly across the ocean.  He fucking missed it._

_“Hey, watch it!” a gruff voice called, snapping Roman out of his peaceful daydream.  It was too late.  He barreled straight into the voice’s owner, knocking them over and onto the wet concrete below.  “God damn it, man, can’t you see I’m fucking doing something?”_

_Ro rolled over and pushed himself up, brushing the ebony tresses out of his face.  “Shit, I’m sorry,” he apologized, extending a hand to help the other man to his feet.  He hauled the stranger up and brushed the loose powder off the man’s back in apology.  “I didn’t see you, man.”_

_The stranger rolled his eyes.  “Course you didn’t.  You big shots roll into town, act like you own the fucking place… rent’s already insane as it is, and now you have the greedy shits raising their rates ‘cause you fucks can afford a thousand bucks a week.” He rambled, turning away from the larger man and setting back to action, clawing his way through the snowy mound.  “You guys turn up.  Grocery store runs out of milk, hookers show up on every street corner, the river’s polluted…”_

_“Wait, what?” Roman guffawed, eyebrows knit in puzzlement.  “You’re blaming us for that shit?”_

_“Excuse you,” the man replied, glancing back at the Samoan, “I’ve done plenty of research, and that shit you guys emit causes a lot of damage, okay?”_

_“Alright, whatever you say,” Roman shrugged and stepped around the scruffy man, resuming his trek toward the convenience store._

_“Hey, the least you could do is get me a coffee or something, you fuckwit!”_

* * *

 

_Roman tapped the toes of his boots on the sidewalk, shaking off as much slush as he could before making his way into the small shop.  A small blonde stood behind the register, snapping her gum and flipping through the newest issue of Tiger Beat.  She glanced up in greeting and resumed her task, seemingly unimpressed with the visitor.  The man made his way toward the coolers and reluctantly grabbed a six-pack of Natty, mentally criticizing the store on its poor selection, before snatching a bag of potato chips and a king size Twix from their respective racks.  He approached the counter and set his items down, reaching for his wallet and pulling out a crisp twenty-dollar bill._

_The girl finally looked up and scowled.  “No beer sales after ten.”_

_“What?” the man asked incredulously, checking his watch for the time.  10:01._

_She pointed at a fluorescent green sign taped to the back of the register, blowing a large bubble and popping it between her fingers.  “No beer sales after ten.  Owner’s rule.”_

_Roman huffed and pushed the six-pack over for the girl to set behind the counter.  “Okay, just this then, I guess.”_

_The cashier rolled her eyes and punched the items into the register, carelessly throwing them in a paper bag marked with a seemingly insulting smiley face and ‘Thanks… come again!’  “It’ll be $6.50,” she stated, holding her palm out expectantly._

_“$6.50 for chips and a candy bar?  Really?” He questioned, baffled by the insane total._

_“Small business in a shitty area.  Gotta make a buck somehow.”_

_“Yeah, fine,” he muttered, handing the bill over.  Glancing out the window, Ro had to question his poor life decisions as he noticed the stranger he ran into earlier was still digging furiously through the packed snow.  He watched the man for another moment before holding up in his hand in suspension.  “Hang on a sec.  I forgot something.”  He raced over toward the coffee bar and grabbed two large styrofoam cups, filling them to the brim with the steaming, black liquid and pocketing a few creamers.  “Sorry, these too.”_

_The girl handed Roman his change and the paper bag with a sarcastic “Thanks, come again” before settling herself back into the trashy teen mag on the counter._

* * *

 

_“Oh, it’s the ‘gas-hole’ again.  Come to fuck with me some more?” The stranger groused, looking up as the taller man approached before once again returning to his frantic searching._

_“Gas-hole?  Haven’t heard that one before,” Roman countered, bumping the other man in the shoulder with one of the coffee cups, “and to think I went out of my way to prevent your freezing to death.”_

_The stranger quirked a brow and cautiously took the offered beverage, seemingly contemplating its contents.  “How do I know this isn’t laced with PCP or something?  Fucking plow me over and get me coffee, and I don’t even know your damn name-”_

_“Roman,” the Samoan offered warmly, extending a hand in proper greeting._

_“The fuck kind of name is ‘Roman’?” The stranger asked incredulously, lip curled in distaste.  “Parents think you’re too good for a normal name like John or Paul or George?”_

_“Or Ringo?”_

_“Oh, fuck off.”_

_“Well, that’s it.  Now what’s yours so I know to leave whenever I hear it?”_

_The stranger huffed a laugh, pale eyes glinting in the streetlight.  “Dean.”_


	2. The Piper's Pit

_By the time Roman had finished his coffee, his mind was a jumble.  Dean chattered practically non-stop, only pausing between rants to take a quick gulp of his own drink before setting it back down and resuming his tireless search along the sidewalk.  “I’m not gonna be the guy to deny that the Green wasn’t a dump before you guys got here, but shit, when the talk around town is the three-eyed catfish?  I mean, hell, even I’d like to see that… but still, man!  These guys at Duke up in Pennsylvania checked these sediment samples around this water treatment plant, and the downstream samples had radium levels 200 times higher than the ones upstream.  If that ain’t fucking crazy…”_

_Roman sighed deeply and scrubbed a hand over his tired face, growing increasingly annoyed with the eccentric.  “You’ve been out here for what, hours now?  I’m pretty sure whatever the hell you’re looking for is gone.”_

_Dean paused and stared up at the taller man, his features shifting from frantic concentration to narrowed irritation.  “Who told ya you had to stand there and watch me?  Fucking creep.  Why don’t you make yourself useful and lend me a hand?  Or are you too good to get down on your knees?”_

_“I bought you a coffee.  I thinks that’s enough of a good deed for today.”_

_“Hah, and a shitty one at that.  I’m guessing the moron you got it from doesn’t know that you’re supposed to clean the pot every few decades?”_

_“Okay, wow,” Ro started, visibly miffed, “first of all, you insult my job, you mock my name, and now you’re gonna bitch about a free coffee?  What else have I done to offend you, your highness?”_

_The crackpot’s eyebrows drew together in concentration, and he drummed his icy fingers against his chin in a sporadic rhythm.  “Well, your hair’s too long,” he retorted after a moment of brainstorming. “Makes you look like a chick.”_

_“That was a rhetorical question, you asshole!” Roman snapped, shoulders tensing and hands clenched at his sides in an attempt from lashing out at the other man._

_“You should’ve clarified,” Dean tsked and gingerly rose to his feet, briefly dusting the caked snow off his jeans in the process.  “Besides, it’s sorta fun gettin’ you riled up.”  The man reached up and adjusted his toboggan, pulling it down over his wind-burnt ears.  He paused for a beat, staring at the Samoan intensely before turning to head off down the street, boots crunching through the dirty slush._

_Roman’s eyes widened in confusion, an embarrassed flush creeping onto his cheeks.  His mind raced a million miles per second, and finally, like a crooked key in a crooked keyhole, it clicked.  “Wait, you’re just fucking with me?” He called after the retreating back._

_Not bothering to stop in his stride, Dean glanced over his shoulder with a wink.  He raised a hand in parting, and Ro could faintly make out a small plastic baggy neatly clutched under the man’s thumb.  “I’ll see ya around sometime, okay?”_

* * *

 

The sharp _clink_ of glass-on-glass pulled Roman from his stupor, and he slowly opened his eyes.  The bar was practically empty, save for a few of the pipeliners engaged in a rousing game of foosball, flirtacious women clinging to their belts in hopes of a nightcap.  Instead of the twangy southern drawl of Garth Brooks, the chorus of an 80’s rock anthem pumped sweetly from the speakers, and he bobbed his head, softly mouthing the lyrics along with Bon Jovi. 

Seth shot the man an apologetic smile and turned to dispose of the empty beer bottles before turning back to lean over the counter.  “Man, you must’ve been beat,” the bartender laughed, “being able to sleep through Dean’s awful rendition of ‘Red Solo Cup’ and all.”

Ro rubbed at his tired eyes and stifled a yawn, imagining his energetic friend happily bouncing on the barstool, hand clenched around a tumbler of whiskey and yelling along with Toby. _Red solo cup, I fill you up, let’s have a party!_   “Even worse than the original?” A nod. “Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past him.”  He pulled his shoulders back in a stretch and rotated his head side-to-side, trying to work the kinks out of his cramped neck.  Sleeping on a barstool was never the most comfortable experience, but unfortunately for the laborer, he had plenty of it.  “Damn,” he groaned after a minute, “how long was I out?”

“Eh, maybe like two hours, tops.”

“Ah, shit.  I feel awful leaving Dean hanging like that.  Just had a hell of a day.”

“Yeah, man, I getcha,” Seth nodded in agreement, “but hey, if it’s any consolation, we never did hire that stripper.  Can’t afford that shit on a bartender’s salary.”

“Oh, so you guys are cheap?”

“Broke, more like it.”

Ro glanced over at the empty barstool beside him, a bit disappointed at his friend’s disappearance.  “Where’d ‘Toby Queef’ go anyway?”

“Restroom,” Seth chuckled, “warned him not to break the seal, but he’s been there practically all night.”

“Since it’s Dean, I’m gonna take a wild guess and say he met a chick,” Roman groused, scratching at his goatee.

“Well, he _was_ chatting up this blonde earlier, but she looked sorta young.  I can’t really see him robbing the cradle like that…”  The bartender was met with a weathered stare.  “Okay, yeah, I can totally see him doing that.”

A door banged shut across the bar, and the pair looked up as Dean reappeared, the golden-haired girl in question practically attached to his side.  As the couple inched closer toward the counter, Roman couldn’t help but smirk.

“Hey, Rome,” Dean started, clapping a hand on the Samoan’s shoulder.  “Sorry to leave ya hanging, but y’know, being asleep and all… didn’t really think you’d care.”

Roman waved the apology off, eyes fixating on the tumor sprouting off the scruffy man’s hip.  His mind clicked in sudden recognition.  “Oh, I know you.  You work at the Quick Stop, right?”

The parasite smiled brightly in her drunken stupor (apparently more interested in life when totally wasted on screwdrivers) and nodded in reply. 

“Yeah, Brittany, isn’t it?”  She nodded again, leaning heavily into her partner’s side.

“ _Brittany_?” Seth mouthed to the larger man, a _what the fuck?_ look plastered on his tanned face.

“Yeah guys, so uh, _Brittany_ and I are gonna head off, okay?” Dean interjected, pulling his wallet out and depositing a couple twenties on the counter.  “That should cover it, right?” 

Seth nodded and claimed the bills, not bothering to inform the drunk that his tab had already been covered.  _Bitch owes me, anyway_. 

“So, uh, yeah… we’re gonna get out of here.  I’ll call you later, Rome?”

“Sounds good,” Ro replied, waving the man off again.  “Just wait until _after_ five AM this time?  I don’t think the neighbors were too pleased with the constant loop of ‘Ring of Fire’ the other night.”

“Then obviously their taste in music is questionable,” the auburn chided, childishly sticking his tongue out. “And you should probably learn how to answer your phone the first few times I call.”  The couple made their leave, Dean’s hand stuck in the back pocket of the girl’s low-rise jeans; he’d obviously staked his claim for the night.

* * *

 

Roman hung around well after the pub closed, lending Seth a hand with the nightly cleaning duties even as the two-toned bartender tried to politely reject the man’s help.  The duo worked diligently, scrubbing sticky, spilt liquor off the tables and wiping down the patched-up barstools.  The larger man had to stop once or twice, gritting his teeth against the throbbing ache in his knee, and Seth would carefully glance Roman’s way, the corners of his mouth turned down in a worried frown.  After a half an hour, the bar was practically spotless, save for the permanent wear and tear of years’ abuse.  The bartender surveyed the space with a heavy sigh, taking in the full atmosphere of the neglected establishment. 

The Piper’s Pit was once the talk around town.  Every weekend, customers from miles around would drive into Wellsboro just to claim that they had survived a night at the infamous bar and to bask in the presence of the owner, the one-and-only Roddy Piper.  Roddy was a mischievous back-alley brawler with a heart of gold and fists of steel.  His sharp wit and rough-‘n’-tough nature instantly created a buzz within the community, and when he revealed his plan to open a pub at the south end of town, not even one person batted an eye.  The man worked diligently, and within just a few months, The Piper’s Pit opened to eagerly awaiting customers, quickly becoming the local gossip hub and after hours hang-out.  Roddy and his ever present kilt charmed the customers and made them feel at home, offering up generous steins of frothy ale and a pleasant atmosphere, comforting and genuine but with enough of an edge to be exciting.  “The Pit” became so popular that four more bartenders were hired, giving the owner the opportunity to mingle with his patrons, striking up jovial conversations while also instigating a fight or two.

Unfortunately, rough times fell on the area.  A bankrupt city budget, rising real estate costs, and a pitiful education system focusing mainly on athletics and less on actual learning led to many locals packing up and leaving town, not once looking behind them at the sad state of their once flourishing hometown.  Each night after last-call, Roddy would hole himself up in his makeshift office, eyes rapidly skimming over final-notices and payroll documents.  The dream he’d finally achieved was crashing down around him in a blaze of debt and frustration.  One of the bartenders, Renee, approached him shortly after the business started to deteriorate, regretfully informing the man that she had to relocate.  He didn’t blame her.  Money was tight and the future was bleak.  Two more followed suit, leaving the owner stressed and on the brink of giving up, until his last employee, Seth, offered to take a pay-cut to keep the business afloat.  Roddy pleaded with the kid, urging him to rethink his decision, but the bartender wanted to hear nothing of the sort.  He settled for minimum wage, and with the owner’s insistence, the shoddy apartment above the bar to keep him off the streets and out of the harsh, mountain cold.

The duo struck up a complimentary pair, two kids-at-heart who just wanted to live their lives to the fullest.  Roddy eventually struck luck on a rare pleasure-trip to Reno, cashing out a miraculous $190k.  He paid off most of his debts and took out a loan on a house in Boston, packing up his ’98 Dodge Durango and waving goodbye to his once-beloved home.  Seth agreed whole-heartedly to taking over The Piper’s Pit in Roddy’s absence, promising that he would do everything in his power to keep the dream alive.

A warm hand clapped down on the bartender’s shoulder, and he glanced up into Roman’s soft eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.  The two lost spirits waved the bar an “adios” for the evening and padded out into the chilly night, the Piper crest softly banging on the back of the front door as Seth pulled it shut and locked it up until the next day.

“You guys gonna come around tonight?” he questioned, plucking through the keys on his carabiner before finally finding the one for his apartment among the mass.

Roman pushed his black mane out of his eyes and shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Depends on if _Brittany_ has to work or not, I guess.”

Seth quirked an eyebrow at the taller man.  “Yeah, about that.  I sense something’s a little off about this whole thing.  Wait, is it a thing?  Am I making it a thing?”

“No… yes.”

“Okay, which one?” the bartender prodded, squinting at his friend curiously.  “Because you were definitely giving that chick the stink-eye back there.”

“What?  No!” Ro denied, shaking his head with an incredulous laugh.  “Why would I care about who Dean’s sticking his dick in?  As long as it ain’t an animal or something, I couldn’t give a shit.”

“But _Brittanyyy_ ”, Seth drawled, eyes wide and waggling his fingers in the other’s face, earning himself a stern glare from the imposing Samoan.  “This girl definitely has you riled up.” It clicked. “Wait… you’re jealous!” He exclaimed, playfully pushing Roman off the sidewalk.

“Oh, like _hell_ I am.”

“Mhmm.  Keep telling yourself that.”

Roman rolled his eyes and pulled the lapels of his jacket up, shielding himself from the chilly winter air.  “You don’t know shit, man.  But hey, I’m fucking beat.  I might see ya tomorrow, a’ight?”

“Sure, sure,” Seth waved him off with a smile before turning to climb the wooden stairs up to his apartment.  “Night, man.”

Roman waved in parting before setting off down the street toward his own abode.  He kicked at the melting slush in frustration, features set in a sour scowl.  _What the fuck?  Jealous?_   His brain kicked into high-gear, spitting out warm memories of good and not-so-good times.  The time Dean got his head stuck in the big blue mailbox outside of the post office after Roman tossed his joint in in retaliation for creating a giant trash bag slip-n-slide with the garden hose and Roman’s argan oil shampoo.  Their trip to Blackwater Falls where the eccentric man, of course, had to almost get them kicked out of the park after he commandeered a barrel and pleaded with his friend to toss him over the 62 foot drop.  The evening he found Dean in a bloody, crumpled heap on the bathroom floor, broken shards of glass from the mirror scattered around him, and his battered cell phone on the counter blinking with twenty missed calls from an unknown person in Cincinnati.  Later that same evening when Roman was lounging on Dean’s sofa, mindlessly clicking through the 13 channels on the tube and Dean slowly approached the man before curling up in his lap like a silky tabby, burrowing his face in the Samoan’s tresses and inhaling deeply.  _“I lied.  Your hair is beautiful.”_

The man let himself into his apartment, closing the door behind him and shrugging the worn, leather jacket off his shoulders before throwing himself onto the threadbare couch.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned at the ache in his knee, hand automatically reaching out to rub at the never-ending tension.  Dean’s honeyed confession grated at the back of his mind like silken-wrapped barbed-wire, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the unwanted realization.

Jealous?  Maybe.

 


	3. Fugue in G-Minor

The sun’s rays crept through the slats of the window blind, bathing Roman’s bedroom in a soft, golden glow.  The man grumbled in his sleep, batting at the offending light, and he reluctantly and oh-so-slowly cracked his eyes open, blearily glancing at the blinking red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table.  _11:25_. He rolled over and begrudgingly slipped from his warm cocoon, shivering slightly as his feet hit the cold, hardwood floor.  His mouth felt fuzzy, his head throbbed, and his knee was on fire.  _Absolutely fantastic way to start the day_.

Roman grabbed the blanket behind him and threw it over his head, shielding himself from the unwelcomed sun.  He wrapped it around himself and fell back onto the pillowy mattress with a groan.  He _had_ worked himself too hard, and when the adrenaline stopped coursing through his veins, the pain was completely overwhelming.  A wave of nausea crept upon him, and he bolted upright, throwing the warm comforter off and quickly limping toward the adjacent bathroom.  It was, of course, at that time when his phone started to vibrate loudly, Johnny Cash’s rough bass-baritone filling the room.  He grabbed the phone off the nightstand, fumbling to unlock the screen and answer before the caller could decide to hang up.

“Dean, it’s gonna be a minute,” he wheezed, flicking the bathroom lights on and stumbling toward his porcelain god.  “Not feeling too hot, man…”

“Yeah, yeah, just put me on speaker.”  Ro complied and set the phone on the sink before returning to his disgusting duty.  “So, there’s this place for sale down on Maple Avenue, and I was thinking hey, what a great place to open a brothel, right?  I mean, it’s rough on the streets, and out of the kindness of my heart and your wallet, we could give those girls a nice place to conduct business.  Probably better than that shithole motel up on Suncrest,” Dean chattered over Ro’s horrifying retching.

The ill man sat back on his haunches and braced himself against the toilet rim before another wave of nausea rolled over his body.  He leaned forward, hurriedly pushing his ebony mane out of his face.

“To be honest, I think it’s a fantastic idea.  We’d be doing a good deed, and it really pays for itself, y’know?” the eccentric continued, completely unfazed by his friend’s current predicament.

After he was finished with round two, Roman wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and flushed.  He gingerly rose, bracing himself on the counter for support, and rinsed his mouth of the foul taste.  He opened the medicine cabinet hanging above the sink and stared at the row of orange prescription bottles; they seemed to taunt him, razor-sharp claws of doubt and trepidation tearing at his every fiber.  _You’re useless.  Worthless.  Nothing._   He angrily grabbed one of the containers, twisting the cap and shaking one of the white pills into his open palm.  As he swallowed it dry, he grimaced at the chalky taste the tablet left as it slowly slid down his throat. 

Dean still rambled on, only pausing for a few seconds to take a quick drag off his smoke and exhale into the receiver, the sharp, static _whoosh_ grating at Roman’s pounding temples.  “So, hey, I’m on my way over.  Thought I’d be kind enough to let you know.”  The sound of a car door slamming shut echoed in the small bathroom.  “I stopped by that deli you like over on Elm.  Hot pastrami on rye coming your way, _brothaaa_.

Roman took a deep breath, willing his stomach to cease its somersaulting.  At the mention of anything food-related, he gagged.  He glanced over at the bathtub with a pang of want; a hot shower sounded _absolutely amazing_ , and it wasn’t like Dean was unwelcome.  _No, no Dean in the shower_ , Roman mentally scolded himself.  “Ugh, yeah, uh let yourself in.  Key’s under the mat.” He finally gritted out, jabbing a shaky finger at the “end call” button before the other man could reply.  Roman stumbled toward the shower and turned the knob to its highest setting, warm steam quickly filling the room in a comforting haze.  He clambered in, hissing through his teeth at the grating of bone-on-bone as his injured joint screamed in pain, and plopped himself down on the installed seat; the hiss turned into a moan of absolute pleasure as the hot water cascaded over his aching body, soothing the tense muscles.  He tried to relax his mind and give in to the warmth, but the nagging soreness irritated him.  The man bowed his head, soaked tresses falling around his face in a dark veil, and awaited the solacing arms of sweet, Vicodin-induced release.

* * *

 

When Roman finally emerged from his comfort zone, cozily dressed and blissed-out on painkillers, he wasn’t surprised to see Dean sprawled across the sofa, remote in one hand and grease-dripping Reuben in the other.  Dean glanced up with a wide smile, resembling a chipmunk with his cheeks full of sandwich.  The man swallowed his mouthful before grabbing the large “Schmaltz Deli” bag off the coffee table and shaking it in his friend’s direction.  Ro shook his head with a grimace and retreated into the kitchen, emerging seconds later with a bottle of water and a packet of saltines.  “Thanks man, but I’ll have to save it for later.  Stomach’s been bothering me all morning if you couldn’t tell.”  He sunk down into the cushions and kicked his feet up on the table, unscrewing the cap of his bottle and taking a few tentative sips.

Dean looked over at the other man, pausing in his seemingly never-ending flipping through the few channels on the television, and scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion.  “What are you talking about?  You seemed fine to me.”

Roman’s guffawed, bewildered at the other’s seemingly complete ignorance of his current state.  “Whatever, man,” he grumbled, tearing into the packet of crackers.

The pair sat in an easy silence, the only sound coming from the blips of audio the TV caught as Dean kept mashing the channel-up button on the remote.  Roman nibbled on one of the crisps, hoping that his stomach wouldn’t immediately reject the small meal.  He stared straight at the wall behind the TV, eyes unfocused and mind completely at ease.  It was the first real peace he’d had in weeks, and he savored it.  The eccentric beside him finished his own meal and crumpled the wrapper into a small ball, tossing it between his hands in contemplation.  Dean glanced over at his friend and smirked, having finally made his decision.  The wad of paper darted through the air like a missile before pinging off Roman’s head and bouncing to the floor.  The Samoan jolted in surprise and swiftly craned his neck toward the other man, leering at him with stormy eyes.

Dean peered at his friend, a sheepish smile plastered on his face.  “I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past like, five minutes, bro,” he explained.  “I was, uh, gonna tell you that I’m not gonna be able to go out tonight.  Britt wants me to come over, and hey, who am I to turn _that_ down?”

The other man kept his gaze steady, eyes turning to menacing, black slits.  Dean slowly pressed back into the cushions behind him, trying to keep his distance from the larger man and his strange behavior.  The clock in the kitchen ticked loudly, seconds seeming to pass in molasses, and Dean fidgeted, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against his collarbone as he waited for Roman to reply. 

After what seemed like hours, Roman’s expression softened, and he sunk back into his own side of the sofa with a heavy sigh.  “Yeah, man, that’s cool.  I was probably gonna stay in tonight anyway.  Give Seth somewhat of a night off for once.”

The auburn heaved his own sigh of relief, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead.  “Okay, cool.  Just didn’t wanna break tradition without letting you know, I gue- wait, what?  Aw hell, no!  Seth Rollins never gets a night off from these toxic twins!”

“Does that make you Steven Tyler, then?” Ro smirked, a tiny twinkle of mischief kindling in his steely eyes.

“Bitch, you know it!” Dean gleefully exclaimed, quickly jumping from his seat and beginning to strut around the living room, hips sashaying to-and-fro in a provocative manner that Roman totally _did not_ find strangely and thoroughly hypnotizing.

“Dude looks like a lady,” Roman snarked, hesitantly rising to his feet and padding into the kitchen to toss his empty bottle into the waste basket.  When he turned back around, he wasn’t expecting Dean to be just inches away, not quite nose to nose, eyelash to eyelash.

“I knew something was up,” Dean muttered after a moment, gesturing at Ro’s injured leg with a sullen expression.  “Especially with the wonderful melody of you puking your guts out.  Was that G-Minor?”

Roman bit his bottom lip, worrying it between his pearly whites.  “Thanks for the food, man.  I really just wanna go back to bed, though,” he replied, quickly trying to change the topic.  As he tried to push past the other man, he was held back by a firm hand against his shoulder.

“I don’t like you doing this to yourself.”

“Not sure what you’re talking about, but thanks for stopping by-“

“Like hell you don’t!” Dean interrupted with an unexpected shout, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring.

A thick silence hung over the room, tension crackling like lightning and suffocating Roman with its unyielding pressure.  He closed his eyes, counting to ten in hopes that his own annoyance would dissipate, before they snapped open in mild shock as the hand that was holding him back crept up his neck to gently cup the back of his head.  Dean slowly toyed with the tresses at the nape, running the silky locks through his calloused fingers and twisting them around his knuckles.

“Ro,” he finally breathed, chest rising and falling steadily with each shaky lungful, “you… you can’t keep doing this.”

His eyes panicked the Samoan.  A flash of terror shining in the baby blues that was quickly replaced by sympathetic yearning.  _Eyes are the windows to the soul._  Roman couldn’t avert his gaze, their orbs locked in breathtaking affection.  His heart was clenched in a vice-like grip, seeming to milk him of his very life essence.  The man was falling.  Head over heels.  Drowning in the hauntingly enchanting ocean of Dean’s battered soul.  His arms began to rise in a mindless embrace but dropped heavily to his sides, apprehension beating the limbs to a bruised and bloody pulp.  Dean’s feather-light touches sent him sky-high, head in the clouds, dancing on air.  The tension was debilitating, and it hurt.  Physically.  Emotionally.  The gravity of it all pulled the man back down to earth, his own fractured being howling in terror as it fell ablaze to the jagged rocks below.  He sucked in a harsh breath and averted his gaze from the somber pale blues. 

“It’s the only thing that makes me feel alive.”

* * *

 

The Piper’s Pit was unusually slow for a Saturday night, and Seth was painfully, _dreadfully_ bored.  Although Roddy had made sure to leave plenty to cover any losses in revenue in his departure, it still irritated the man when he tried his damnedest to keep the business afloat.  Sure, a few of the regulars were there, carrying on gravelly conversations regarding the past work-week and the local football team’s oncoming state-championship play-off game, but it just wasn’t the same… especially with the unexpected lack of a certain scruffy auburn and his 6-foot-3 companion. 

The bartender slouched behind the counter, trying to blink away the fuzzy dullness as he inattentively took inventory for the evening.  _Hypnotiq.  Calico Jack.  Jim Beam._   The piercing _crack!_ of a snapping pool cue gained the man’s attention, and he whipped around, pointing his pen toward a pair of burly laborers who were currently nose-to-nose, snarling and gnashing at one another. 

“Hey, knock it the fuck off!” he exclaimed, slamming his notepad on the bar with a _thwack!._   His blood boiled red-hot in his veins, and the man most definitely _wasn’t_ in the mood to put up with any asinine bullshit.  “You really wanna get thrown out of here over a damn game of billiards, gentlemen?”

The men separated with a growl and a quick glare toward the irked bartender, downing their respective beverages and tossing a few bills on a nearby table before making their leave, most likely to settle their score out in the alley behind the pub.  The other patrons returned to their own conversations, seemingly disappointed in the lack of an altercation. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Having resolved the issue, Seth grabbed the notepad in a huff and disappeared into the stock-room, grabbing the few needed supplies and checking them off his list.  On his return, he beamed brightly, gladly surprised at the newest arrival.

Roman sat at the bar, tapping a thoughtless rhythm against the scratched counter-top.  He looked a mess, donning a baggy, gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his curls and tortoise shell aviators shielding his red-rimmed eyes.  Seth set the bottles on the shelf behind him and turned toward the other man, failing to stifle a laugh at his friend’s unkempt appearance.

“Dude, you look like the Unabomber.”

Ro paused in his tapping, pulling his sunglasses off and giving the other a hard frown.  Seth’s smirk died just as suddenly as it came, and the Samoan re-covered his bloodshot orbs.

“Okay, scratch that.  You look like shit.  What’s up?”

“You were right,” Roman croaked in reply, biting at his thumbnail in unease.

“I was right about what?” Seth questioned, leaning across the counter to yank his friend’s hand away from the nasty chewing.  “Disgusting habit.  Stop that.”

Roman heaved a sigh, pulling his appendage back and burrowing further into the security of his ridiculously oversized hoodie. 

Seth’s expression softened in tender admiration.  _How could a 260-something-pound giant resemble a small child?_   It tugged at his heartstrings, and all he wanted was to gather the man into his arms and soothe away his troubles, whatever they may be. 

“The fucking jealously thing, man.  I admit it.”

Seth drew back, absolutely flabbergasted at the other’s confession as it finally hit him.  “Wait, what?” he demanded, blinking rapidly in confusion.  “I-I was just kidding, man!” 

Roman flinched at the bartender’s incredulous tone and quickly spun, trying to scramble off the stool and out the door. 

“No, no, wait!” Seth pleaded, pulling the man back around to face him.  He reached into the cooler behind him and pulled out a bottle of lager, uncapping and setting it down in front of his friend.  “I’m not upset, I promise.  It’s just, I totally wasn’t expecting this, like… at all.”

“Yeah, big-bad Reigns has got a hard-on for Dean fucking Ambrose,” Roman spat, yanking his sunglasses off and grabbing at the bottle, downing half of the bitter malt in a few, hard gulps before slamming it on the counter with a loud _bang!_ which caused the other patrons to turn and stare. 

Seth waved the onlookers off with a dirty scowl; they once again turned back to their own conversations, grumbling and still disappointed at the loss of another brawl.  When he returned his attention to the distressed raven, he found that Roman had finished off the rest of the bottle and had tossed a crumpled fifty down beside it.

“Ro, calm down.  Let’s talk about this.”

“I will if you keep ‘em coming, pretty boy.”

* * *

 

Hours passed in hard-thought revelation, and soon enough, it was last call.  The few remaining customers parted for the night, waving their goodbyes and promises of “see ya tomorrow, Seth.”  The bartender shrugged on his jacket and stepped around the counter, ushering a heavily drunken Roman out the door before flipping the lights off and locking up for the evening.  Ro eyed him suspiciously, and the man shrugged, guiding his friend toward the rickety wooden steps with a steady hand.

“Cleaning can wait until tomorrow.  Let’s go finish this discussion.”

Roman nodded in agreement, beginning his shaky ascent up to Seth’s apartment.  When they finally reached top, the two-toned man quickly unlocked the door and steered the other inside before switching on the lamp beside the entrance; it bathed the small dwelling in an orange-ish glow, illuminating the various odds-and-ends the man had collected over the years. 

Roddy hadn’t lied when he told Seth the place needed some work, but he wasn’t going to complain.  It was much better having a warm place to rest his head other than the beat-up Sunfire he ghosted into town on fumes in.  A patched sectional sofa took up most of the main room, crammed in with a rickety old bookshelf stuffed with various paperback novels on one side and a rabbit-eared tube TV across the way.  A small weight bench sat in one corner, a towel unceremoniously draped over it from Seth’s earlier session, and an acoustic guitar sat propped in the other.  The equally as cramped kitchen stood off to the side, the wall torn out over the countertop to create a bit more openness to the claustrophobic’s nightmare, and a sharp right led down the narrow hallway to the bedroom and rather miniscule bathroom.  The sardine can nature of the apartment was somewhat _charming_ in a way, and the cozy nature made for many a night spent watching the grainy television in relative comfort.

Roman plopped himself down on one end of the sofa, sinking into the soft cushions contentedly while Seth prattled around.  He silently questioned the other man as a glass of water and a few tablets of aspirin were pushed into his hands.

“You’ll thank me later,” Seth clucked, watching his friend like a mother hen to see if he would actually comply.  He set the empty glass down on the floor and joined Roman on the couch, kicking his shoes off and pulling his legs up to stretch them out with a groan of relief.  “So, when are you gonna see him again?”

“I’m not sure,” Roman finally replied with a groan, rubbing at his tired eyes as the alcoholic fog started to lift, rapidly becoming replaced by the oncoming pressure of a nausea-inducing headache.  “Said he had business to take care of tomorrow, so Monday maybe?”

Seth hmm’d in response, shifting until he was happily comfortable.  “I think you should tell him.”

The other man quirked an eyebrow.  “That’s really not the best idea.  Pretty sure Dean “titty-master” Ambrose ain’t into the D.”

“Titty-master,” Seth chuckled at the nickname, remembering all too well the many incidents that gave Dean his famous moniker.  He grew serious, though, wanting to get back at the conversation at hand.  “You can’t just keep this bottled up, Ro.  It’s just gonna keep eating atcha, y’know?  If I were you, I’d just say ‘fuck it’ and go balls-to-the-wall.”

Roman huffed and scrubbed at his face in irritation.  “You say it like it’s so fucking easy,” he slurred, “but if you were in love with your best friend, do you really think you’d be able to just say ‘hey, I think about you naked in my shower.  Wanna go out on a date?’”

Seth cringed in mock distaste, wishing for something to bleach the quickly developing snapshot of Dean’s sudsy, naked ass from his brain.  “Okay, okay,” he started, waving his hands in retreat, “I can’t unsee that now, you asswipe.”  Roman stuck his tongue out in a childish reply, and Seth lightly kicked him in retaliation.  “But seriously, man.  How else are you gonna find out if he feels the same way?  You’ll never know unless you try.  What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, he could completely reject me from his life for trying to come onto him when he’s undeniably straight.”

“Negativity will get you nowhere, Mr. Reigns.”

“Ain’t negative when it’s the truth.”

The pair grew silent, mulling over their predicament.  Seth scrunched his eyebrows in concentration, puzzling and puzzling until his head hurt, while Roman snuggled deeper into the plush cushions, quick breaths soon leveling out into a steady, peaceful rhythm.  If Roman were to tell Dean how he felt, what _would_ happen?  He glanced over at the tranquil man, watching his chest rise and fall steadily with each deep, even intake of air.  Seth wasn’t quite sure, but he did know that he had to find out, one way or another. 

 _3:41 AM_.

 _Mission initiated_.


	4. Of August

“You know, man, dogs are the realest.”

Roman quirked a brow, pausing for a second in brief consideration before shrugging and setting back to mixing the blue concoction in his hands.  He grimaced against the pungent odor of the bleach, nasal cavity burning from the toxic assault.  Seth sat on the floor between his parted legs, toying with the frayed hem of Ro’s sweatpants.

“Like, when I was a kid, we had the most awesome mutt.  Didn’t know what the fuck he was, but shit, he was so fucking loyal.  Little guy would always walk me to school… smart as a whip, though, cause he was always out front at three on-the-dot to walk back home with me.  Didn’t need a leash or anything… just stayed by my side the whole way- oh, yeah, dude, that’s good,” Seth continued, semi-ignoring and hastily nodding in approval at Roman’s amateur stylist skills as the other man tilted the small bowl forward for him to give the green light.  “My mom worked at the animal shelter in town, and she told me that one night some guy drove up and threw him over the fence.  Man, that thing was at least six feet high!  Fucking asswipe.  Little guy was a scrapper, though.  No broken bones or bruises.  When the crew came in the next day, they found him all huddled up in the corner of the pen. Anyway, mom seriously fell in love with that dog.  She brought him home a few days later, and we just clicked.”

Roman scooped a gob of the caustic mixture onto his brush, sucking in a (regretfully) deep breath before timidly setting it to his friend’s scalp.  He pulled the dirty blonde tresses through his gloved fingers (like hell he was letting that mess eat his skin), gently dabbing the bleach against the dark roots on the side of Seth’s bobbing head.  “Dude, unless you want this shit in your eye, you’d best sit still.”

Seth stuck his tongue out in reply but obeyed, setting his shoulders straight and staring forward.  Roman quickly dabbed the rest of the bleach on and shoved the small bowl of remaining goo at his friend, shucking his gloves off and tossing them into the empty L’Oréal box in relief.

“I don’t know how you aren’t in pain right now, man,” Roman cringed, waving his hand in front of his face to try and fan off the noxious fumes.  “My nose is seriously on fire.”  He dangled the plastic processing cap over Seth’s shoulder.

“Puss,” Seth chided, grabbing the cap out of his friend’s hand and yanking it down over his goopy hair before setting the container down and leaning back to rest his swathed head in Roman’s lap.

The larger man sighed, satisfied that the plastic bag seemed to snuff out most of the odor, before bringing his hand down to lightly cup the two-toned’s scruffy jaw and scratch lightly at his wiry beard. 

Seth purred in delight, closing his eyes and nuzzling into the calloused palm.  “You ever have a dog, Ro-Ro?” He questioned, continuing their previous conversation.

“Nope,” Ro casually replied, caressing the other’s jaw with his thumb, “my mom’s more of a cat person.  She had a bad experience with a Chihuahua when she was a kid, but I mean, she never let it get to her ‘cause she was always playing with the neighbor’s retriever through the fence.  There were some stray toms in our neighborhood, and they just kept showing up at the back door since she always set out food and water for ‘em.  She has a huge heart, especially when it comes to animals.”

The younger man smiled warmly.  “She sounds like a wonderful person.”

The pair sat in easy silence, Roman continuing his mellow scratching to Seth’s pleasure.  The time they spent together was always relaxed.  Days spent lazily lounging in front of the television, bulging containers of take-out resting in their laps.  Seth’s rare nights off where they would pile into Ro’s company-issued white pickup, taking the country ridges and dirt paths winding through the wild hills with practiced ease to stop off on the side of the road and lay in the truck-bed, gazing up at the twinkling stars that dotted the pitch-black sky in their breathtaking beauty.  No, the duo’s meetings were not at all frenzied and spontaneous like their hang-out sessions with Dean.  When the three men got together, it was a crapshoot as to which way things would go since gauging the “lunatic’s” mood was much like playing a pulse-pounding game of Russian Roulette.

Dean Ambrose was a man of many personalities, and you never knew what you were going to get on any given day.  There was mischievous Dean, the impish practical-joker who smirked wickedly as he set every clock in Roman’s apartment one hour ahead of time, later waiting for the inevitable “You’re such an ass!” phone call.  Placid Dean, eyes bloodshot and dopey grin plastered on his face as he lounged on the sofa, open bag of Cheetos on his stomach and feet propped in Roman’s lap.  Irritable Dean who sat perched at the bar for hours, pounding back Jack and Cokes to Seth’s concerned annoyance.  Loving Dean, the one who wrapped you in his strong arms, caressing your back and telling you “everything’s gonna be alright.”  But most disconcerting was elegiac Dean, the one who shuffled along, head hung low and dark cloud following above before frighteningly disappearing for days at a time, returning to the bar a few evenings later, jovial and ready for a night of adventure.

But on rare occasions, all of those Deans, the wild to the mellow to the sullen, would merge into one being, and that was the real Dean Ambrose.  The Dean who only one was fortunate enough to witness, and, oh, how Roman thanked his lucky stars that that living, breathing Dean was his and his alone.      

“But man, you don’t know what you’re missing out on.  There’s this, like, connection you have with a dog that I don’t think you can get with a cat.  Like, they’re super loyal… always there for ya.  Especially if you had a rough day.  They sense that stuff.”  A pause.  “We’re gonna get you a dog.”

Roman blinked, retreating from his longing thoughts as Seth’s words washed over him.  He chuckled softly, letting his warm hand wander lower to affectionately wrap itself around Seth’s neck, fingers reaching out to gently tap at the collarbone peeking out from beneath the other’s worn, bleach-stained t-shirt.  “Nah, I got my own pup right here.”

* * *

 

“How do you fuck up roots, man?” Seth questioned, pulling at his orange-tinged tresses in despair.  Roman cringed and bit his lower lip; he mentally berated himself, feeling awful for fucking up something so seemingly easy.  The now tri-toned man glanced up at his friend’s reflection in the mirror, heart melting at the pitiful sight.  _Jesus, why does he have to be so goddamn adorable?_  “No, no, Ro.  Fuck, I’m sorry, it’s fine.  I’ll just see if AJ can squeeze me in at the salon tomorrow, a’ight?”

Roman nodded slowly, reaching out to pet the few strands of the sherbet colored hair before dropping his hand in defeat.  “I mean, it’s kinda cool, I guess?”

“Don’t try and play this off, Ro-Ro,” Seth lightly scolded, turning around in time to see the timid giant lower his head in guilt.  Sighing, he lightly grasped the man’s bearded chin and tilted his head up to look him in the eye.  “I’ll just throw a hat on, and you can treat me to dinner.  Cool?”  A nod.  “Good, cause I’m feeling Chinese.”

The duo soon clambered into Seth’s Sunfire, ready to fill their ferociously growling bellies.  Roman pushed the seat back as far as possible, but he was still cramped; the two-seater was definitely not made with his large frame in mind.  Seth shot him an apologetic smile, and they took off.  The radio crackled on with the turn of a dial, and Roman scanned through the channels, stopping on the local hip-hop station and cranking up the volume.  They turned onto the highway running north through town, and Seth picked up speed, jerkily shifting gears as they tore off down the main stretch, speakers vibrating from the violent bass.  Ro stared out the window, taking in the dilapidated buildings and overgrown lawns of the many condemned houses.  Wellsboro was, for lack of a better word, gloomy.  A permanent fog seemed to settle over the entire city, blanketing the area in an endless winter depression.  He longed for Florida more and more with each passing day.  The warm sand, the sunny azure sky, the endless sapphire ocean.  The car slowed to a stop and Seth groaned, smacking his palm off the steering wheel in frustration.  One of the worst parts of living in a small town was the railroad track cutting straight across Route 19 that divided the city in two.

“Fucker’s got four engines on it,” Seth complained, shifting into park, “probably gonna be here for awhile.”

“Eh, I’m not worried about it,” Ro replied nonchalantly, continuing to peer through the glass.  He watched a shabby looking kid turn down the alley beside them, ratty hood pulled over his head to shield himself from the biting cold.  The kid stopped halfway down, glancing around suspiciously before leaning back against the brick wall of the building behind him.  He lit up a cigarette, the blue smoke spiraling above his head as he exhaled.  _Eh, nothing exciting here._   Out of curiosity (or for better lack of anything else to do besides watch the graffiti-littered coal cars pass by), Roman continued watching out of the corner of his eye, silently hoping for a little adventure.  He pulled his own hood up over his mane and fished the aviators out of his pocket, covering his eyes to sneakily spy through the sepia lenses.  A familiar looking form passed by his window, pausing mid-step to cautiously squint in at the car’s occupants, and Roman’s heart stopped.  He knew those unruly auburn curls anywhere.  _What the fuck is Dean doing here?_  

He glanced over at Seth who sat disinterested, mindlessly tapping at a pixelated bird on his cell phone.  The bird crashed into a Super Mario-esque green pipe, and the other man cursed under his breath, shaking the device before hitting the “try again” button in irritation.  He returned his attention to the auburn and watched the man’s back as he ambled down the alley toward the smoking kid.  A few words were exchanged, and Dean pulled a small, plastic sandwich bag out of the back pocket of his jeans, holding it out for the kid to scrutinize.  The kid nodded once, and Dean passed the baggy over, returning with a bundled up wad of bills.  The pair exchanged a word in parting, and Dean turned on his heel, innocently exiting with another quick peek into the Sunfire.  Roman held his breath, silently willing the object of his affection to just walk on by.  Thankfully, the fates were on his side.  _What in the hell was that?_

Seth hissed through his teeth and opened the center console, throwing his phone in with a huff before slamming the compartment closed.  “Fucking bullshit bird,” he grumbled.  The man glanced over at his silent friend, and his eyebrows knit together in concern as he watched the color drain from Ro’s caramel complexion.  “Hey, Ro, you okay?”

 _What the fuck.  What the fuck.  What. The. Fuck_.

“Ro?” No reply.  “Ro!” Seth exclaimed, shaking the zoned-out man’s shoulder, trying to pull him back down to earth.

Roman blinked, his heart beating briskly, threatening to burst out of his rapidly tightening chest.  Whipping his sunglasses off and clenching them in his fist, he twisted around to stare at his best friend, eyes wide in alarm.

“Ro-Ro, what is it?  W-what happened?”  Seth stuttered, reaching up to cup the man’s trembling jaw.

The Samoan sucked in a deep breath, willing his frantically churning stomach to settle.  The acid gurgled into his throat, and he choked at the burning sensation.  His heart clenched, eyes watering in pain.  _Oh God, please, no._  

“Dean’s a fucking drug-dealer, man!”       

* * *

 

Dean Ambrose never would’ve imagined surviving to twenty-nine.  A scrappy, impetuous kid who grew up on the streets of East-End Cincinnati, the most his life held for him was hazard and one foot in an early, unmarked grave.  But there he was, twenty-nine and counting.  _Happy fucking Birthday_.

A tablet of Percocet pressed to his tongue, chased by a long swig of whiskey.  The burn in the back of his throat, the warmth of the amber liquor hitting his stomach.  The cold was biting, but still he sat, cross-legged on the hood of his ’89 Mercury Topaz, a bottle of Canadian Mist in his lap.  The night sky above a pitch-black, dotted with flickering, dying stars.  He lay back against the windshield, propping his arms behind his head and stared into the celestial expanse, mentally gauging the distance between himself and the twinkling bodies.  He sucked in a deep breath, the harsh chill of the oncoming winter freezing his lungs. 

 _Alive_.

 _Alive but not living_.

The distant memory of summer solstice.  Grass stains on the knees of his Salvation Army jeans as he tumbled over the lawn.  Bandaged scrapes, disheartening Christmas mornings, the rabbit-eared television crackling with static.  The used needles under the bathroom sink.  The track marks on his mother’s arms as she tucked him in for the night.

The day his father walked out, ruffling his unruly hair with a large hand before the door clicked shut behind him.  Lonely evenings at the kitchen table, government peanut butter sandwich half-eaten, spots of mold littering the white bread.  _It’s just penicillin._  

Drunken nights in the back of Sami’s beat-up Cavalier, windows fogged and bodies rutting against each other in lust.  Foreheads pressed, fingers entangled, mouths gasping against promises of “I love you, always.”

Dean grabbed the bottle from his lap, unscrewing the cap and lifting it toward the heavens in a mocking toast before setting it to his lips. 

_“You want some company later?”_

_She was beautiful.  A golden ray of light in his bleak, miserable world.  A fragile doe, eyes wide and shining in the oncoming headlights.  Crooked teeth and freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, red-rimmed bloodshot orbs, flecks of dried blood around her nostrils.  Blonde strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, cheeks flushed a rosy red, chest heaving in post-orgasmic bliss._

_She was imperfectly perfect._

_He wanted to ruin her._

_“Nah, not tonight.”_

_He pulled out of her clinging arms, rolling off the bed and finding his clothes within the hurried heap.  He dressed quickly and pushed the auburn cherub curls out of his eyes, glancing at the glowing Venus cradled within the shell of the bed, swathed in sweat-stained linen._

_“Of august gold-wreathed and beautiful_

_Aphrodite I shall sing to whose domain_

_Belong the battlements of all sea-loved_

_Cyprus where, blown by the moist breath_

_Of Zephyros, she was carried over the_

_Waves of the resounding sea on soft foam._

_The gold-fileted Horae happily welcomed_

_Her and clothed her with heavenly raiment.”_

_Two crumpled fifties were tossed onto the bedspread, and he left, shutting the door behind him as he stepped out into reality_.

 “Cheers.”

 _Twenty-nine and counting_.

 


	5. Feng Shui

“Sorry, what?”

Roman squeezed his eyes shut against the distressed chocolate orbs boring into him.  He tipped his head against the headrest, gritting his teeth in frustrated bewilderment. 

 _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.  Really Dean?_  

The stereo speakers crackled and thudded with the heavy bass, and Seth reached over, ending the continuous pulsing with a swift smack to the radio’s power button.  He glanced toward the tracks, relieved that the train’s caboose was nowhere near, before returning his gaze to his distraught friend.  His other hand raised to mimic the one firmly cupping Roman’s tense jaw, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against the soft beard beneath.

“Ro, what did you just say?” He questioned, silently pleading for the other man to look at him.

The Samoan sucked in a deep breath, readying himself for the inevitable.  “While you were playing that shitty ass bird game or whatever, I saw Dean in an exchange.”

Seth scrunched his brows together in confusion and dropped his hands to rest in his lap, Roman mentally whining from the loss of comforting contact.

“Like, a recipe swap?  Or Pokemon card trading?  I’m still missing a few holographics for my collection.  Maybe he could hook me up?  Do you think 20 Eevees is a fair exchange for a holo Chansey?  ‘Cause seriously, Eevee is legit.” 

The tri-toned man was met with a dead-eyed stare. 

“Jesus, at least you’re pretty.” 

Seth started to open his mouth to reply but was abruptly cut off as Roman continued. 

“No, Seth!  Unless they were swapping ‘magic brownie’ recipes.”

“Wait, like cosmic brownies?  ‘Cause those things are the shit!”

Roman rolled his eyes, completely baffled by his friend’s obliviousness.  “How have you survived this long?”

Yet again, Seth was cut off before he could retort, this time with a warm hand pressed against his mouth in a makeshift muzzle.

“No, dipshit!  Drugs!”

Seth pushed the large hand off and rolled his own eyes with a huff, twisting around in his seat just in time to watch the train’s caboose finally pass by.  He shifted the car into drive, revving the idle engine and waiting for the gates to lift and allow their passage onward toward North Wellsboro. 

“Good god, Ro-Ro, that’s it?  Fuck, I think _everyone_ knows that.” 

As soon as the red flashing lights ceased, they sped off, kicking up dust in their wake.  Seth pressed the power button on the radio but quickly turned the volume down, not feeling like blowing out his already crackly speakers courtesy of Roman’s god-awful taste in music. 

“Besides, it’s not really a big deal anyway.  There’s practically nothing to do here other than get fucked up, and hey, if he wants to supply to the locals, then props to him.  Good business strategy.  ‘Sides, he always pays his tab, so I can’t really complain about where or how he gets his money.  Else I’d have to throw his ass out, and yeah, I never tried again after the first time.”

The larger man’s mind instantly went into overdrive, trying to imagine what could’ve happened to get Dean almost thrown out (especially considering the eccentric’s usual screwy antics).

“I can practically hear the gears turning, man.  I’ll tell you about it some other time,” Seth laughed, glancing over at his friend with a smirk.  “’Sides, why’s it such a big deal to you?  Happens no matter where you are.  Especially in perfect, sunny Florida.  Remember that guy who got all strung out and ate that other guy’s face off like some cheap zombie flick?  Florida!”

Roman scowled against the jab at his home-state, crossing his arms across his chest defiantly.  “You don’t think it’s wrong at all?  It’s illegal, man, and not to mention, he could get locked up for years if he ever gets caught.”

Seth guffawed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the steady bass beat.  “To be honest, I really couldn’t give a shit.  As long as I don’t get caught up in it, it really doesn’t matter to me what he likes to do in his spare time.  ‘Sides, you don’t care if he smokes the reefer, so why should it matter if he deals it?”  The puzzle pieces finally clicked together, bringing the man to a sudden epiphany.  “Wait, you’re just trying to find any excuse to deny your feelings!”

The other man paled, stomach dropping like an anchor.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You know,” Seth started, waving his hand in the air in a sloppy 4/4 meter, “Dean and Roman sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-“

“Oh, seriously, fuck off.”

“Mmm, nope!  Considering you’re the one who came to me all red-eyed and reeking of lust last night.  So, when are you gonna tell him anyway?”

“I may have been way past my usual buzz, but I _do_ remember telling you there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening.”

“Ah, poor choice of words, my friend,” Seth tsked, wagging his finger in Roman’s face as a mother would her child.  “You do know that Hell, Michigan can reach temps of like -13, right?”

Roman snapped his teeth, watching with a smirk as the annoying appendage shot back to the steering wheel.  “You’re a fucking smartass.”

Seth dropped gears and made a sharp left, coasting into the parking lot of the small Chinese restaurant.  He threw the car into park and shut off the engine before flipping the visor down to check out his reflection, making sure that his tiger-orange roots were adequately covered by his baseball cap.

“You’re so vaaaain,” Roman sang, lightly punching his friend in the arm.

“Wouldn’t have to worry if you didn’t fuck up,” Seth retorted, sticking his tongue out.  The raven-haired man visibly tensed, and noticing that he’d struck a nerve, the younger of the pair reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm.  “Dude, I’m kidding.  Promise.  Now gimme one of those panty-dropping smiles!”  The corners of Roman’s mouth slightly twitched.  “Okay, good enough.  Now let’s go.  I’m fucking starving!”

They strolled into the restaurant, practically salivating at the delightful aromas surrounding them as soon as they opened the front door.  Upon their entrance, a short, plump woman hurriedly waddled up to the duo, a warm smile crinkling at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh, my boys are back!  Please, please, seat yourselves,” she giggled, ushering the men toward the dining area.  “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Chen,” Roman nodded, turning to follow Seth through the rows of dining tables.

Seth plopped himself down in their usual corner booth, Roman squeezing in across from the smaller man.  He smoothed the placemat out with his palms, scanning the paper for his birth year.  “Aw, yeah, Tiger!  Prowling the fucking jungle,” he grinned, fangs bared and clawing at the air.  “Let’s see… brave, confident, adventurous, hm, yeah, I guess.  Lucky colors… blue, gray, orange.”

Roman shook his head with a laugh.  “Seems fitting,” he smirked, eyeing a piece of tinted hair stubbornly sticking out from under Seth’s cap.

Seth flipped his friend his favorite finger, eyes still twitching back and forth as he read the fine print.  “Lucky numbers… hey, Ro.  When did we meet again?”

“Uh, shit, man.  It was years ago.”

“Psh, only like a couple.  You don’t remember?”

“Uhhh, March?” Roman scrubbed at his goatee in contemplation, blindly reaching for the long stashed-away memory.  “Yeah, that was it.  ‘Cause Dean drug my ass out for Mardi Gras for some god-awful reason.  Don’t even know why I went out anyway.”

“’Cause you knew you’d meet your friendly, neighborhood bartender,” Seth replied with a wink, reaching up to tuck the pesky stray hair back under his hat.

“Ohhh, we’re gonna be busy today!” Mrs. Chen exclaimed as she approached the boys’ table, plastic cups filled with icy sweet tea clutched in her chubby hands.  She set the drinks down on the table before ruffling Ro’s bouncy curls.  “Roman, your hair is as beautiful as always!  What’s your secret?”

Roman smiled sheepishly, slightly shying away from the woman’s not-so-easy caresses.  “Oh, just shampoo and conditioner.” 

Seth rolled his eyes at the display, green with envy.  He plucked a straw out of the canister at the end of the table, unwrapping the tube and balling the white paper up before flicking it in his friend’s direction.  It pinged off of the man’s nose, and Seth mentally pumped his fist in the air in triumph.  “Nah, nah, he uses that Organix stuff.  All that fancy, smell-good crap the ladies go wild over.”

Mrs. Chen met the younger man with a scornful scowl.  “Jealousy is not a good look for you, Mr. Rollins,” she chided, ceasing her petting and reaching into the front pocket of the stained apron tied around her portly waist.  She emerged with a stub of a pencil and a well-used notepad, setting the lead to the yellowed paper in anticipation.  “You boys having the usual?”

“Yes please,” the pair replied in unison, Seth’s own answer slightly muffled through the straw in his mouth as his eyes wavered between the quickly disappearing tea and Roman’s flowing, ebony mane as it was tossed over an equally as wonderful broad shoulder.  _Fucking perfect motherfucker_.

“Okay, so an L3 and an _extra spicy_ L22.  I’ll have your dumplings out soon, sweeties,” the petite woman confirmed and turned to head into the kitchen.

Roman leaned back in the cramped booth, trying to stretch out his legs and not-so-accidentally kicking Seth’s shin in the process.  The younger man kicked back in retaliation before giving up and setting back to drain the rest of his once-brimming cup.  The remaining liquid soon gurgled and spat against Seth’s harsh sucking, and he gave up, abandoning the slowly melting cubes.  He lightly scratched at the worn Pepsi logo on the red plastic, trying to avoid the crushing elephant in the room, and his eyes flickered up, catching Roman’s own steely grays staring intently at him.

“So, uh… the whole Dean situation,” Seth started awkwardly, glancing back down at the distressed print. “I have a feeling there’s a story behind why you’re so stressed out over his choice of employment.”

Ro groaned, tiredly rubbing at the back of his neck.  “Yeah, uh, my cousin got into it bad back when I was in high school.  I don’t really like getting into it, but he ended up seriously strung out and suffered a heart attack.  Died before they even got him to the hospital.”

Seth felt like he had been jabbed in the stomach.  _Wow.  God-damnit, let’s see how else I can make him feel like absolute dog shit_.  “Oh, fuck.  I’m sorry, man,” he sympathized, grabbing the Samoan’s hand that sat atop the table.  His thumb smoothed comforting circles over the sun-kissed skin, and he silently reprimanded himself for even bringing the topic up.  “I should’ve known it was a touchy subject, but I just kept pushing.  Jesus, I really am a fucking idio-.”

“No, you aren’t,” Roman demanded, cutting the other man off before he could finish his self-deprecating statement.  He reached out to tilt the other’s chin up so as to look him dead in the eye.  “You’re an amazing friend, and I needed to get it out anyway.  Been bottling shit up for far too long.  Just glad I have someone close to talk to.”  Ro scratched at the scruff with his blunt nails, and Seth beamed.

The swinging door leading to the kitchen banged open, and the boys quickly separated.  Mrs. Chen approached the table, a shit-eating grin plastered on her rosy face.  She glanced between the two men, a mischievous twinkle in her almond eyes, before shaking her head and retrieving the plate of dumplings and bowl of Sichuan sauce from the tray she was carrying.  “You boys are just too cute,” she winked, grabbing Seth’s empty cup and giving it a shake, the cubes rattling noisily against the hard plastic.  “Thirsty today? I’ll get you some more tea, dear.”

The plate in front of them looked so temptingly delicious, but the last thing either man could think about was eating.  Seth grabbed one of the dumplings anyway, deciding he should at least make somewhat of an effort to fill his growling belly.

“So,” Seth started, dipping one end of his dumpling in the tangy sauce.  “Like, what are you gonna do now?  I mean, are you gonna confront him about this?”

Roman bit the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit he’d developed over the years.  “I really don’t know, to be honest.  Like, how would I even bring it up?”

“Just casually remark that you saw him today, I guess.  And if he asks where or anything, just tell him.  Maybe then he’ll come clean to you?”

“Yeah, I guess that would be the only way to go about it.  It’s not like I’m gonna just come out and accuse him or something he might not even be doing.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, Ro-Ro,” Seth scoffed through a bite of dough and pork.  “Everyone knows what he’s up to.”

“Except for me,” Ro frowned, pushing his tresses out of his eyes.

Seth popped the rest of the dumpling in his mouth, chewing and swallowing the doughy morsel before replying.  “You know, maybe he didn’t want to hurt you?”

Roman sighed, twirling his straw in his cup, watching the cubes mesmerizingly spiral in the dark tea.  “Well, he did a hell of a job, right?”

“Dude, how long have you known Dean?”

“A couple years, at least.”

“Okay, and you’re _just now_ finding out about this?  I’d say he did a hell of a job hiding it from you.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have to hide shit from me.  He’s my best friend.”

Seth gasped, clutching at his heart dramatically.  “And what am I?” he exclaimed, eyes wide.  “Best friend my ass!  Who’s been here for your mopey ass this whole time?  Who did you come to when you realized Dean fucking Ambrose gives you a hard-on?  Who was there when you left that pizza in the oven for _well over_ the recommended cooking time and helped you clear the smoke out of your apartment, huh?  Huh?”

Ro grabbed a dumpling and stared at it quick contemplation before he shrugged and reached across the table, depositing it in Seth’s gaping mouth.  The other man spluttered before realizing that the slick object in his mouth was indeed food and chomped down, chewing and swallowing with a wide grin.

“Another peasant!” he laughed, tipping his head back and opening wide.

“While you’re pretty, you ain’t no Cleopatra,” Roman retorted, a chuckle of his own shaking the never-ending tension from his shoulders.

“Neither of you are quite the buxom beauty,” a giggly voice piped up, and the boys turned to greet the restaurant’s owner as she stood at the end of the table, eyes positively alight with playfulness.  She set their steaming entrees down in front of them (General Tso for Roman and shrimp lo-mein for Seth) and reached out to pluck Seth’s baseball cap off.  “It’s impolite to wear a hat while you’re eating-oh!  Oh dear.  What happened to your hair?”

Seth cringed red with embarrassment, covering his head with his hands in an attempt to shield the garishly bright, orange roots.

Across the table, Roman stifled a laugh and shook his head.  “Just a little accident, Mrs. Chen.  Apparently Seth seriously overestimated my skill as a hair-dresser.”

“Mmm,” the woman replied absentmindedly, slowly placing the hat back onto Seth’s head.  “Well, let’s just keep this our little secret, okay?”  She patted the flushed man’s arm in a “there-there” manner and once again retreated back into the kitchen.  A loud laugh erupted from the cookery followed by muffled excited shouting in a foreign tongue, and Roman stilled, glancing over at the swinging door.

Seth was mortified.

“Oh c’mon,” the Samoan smirked, stabbing a piece of spicy chicken with his fork and lifting it to his mouth.  “It’s not that bad.  Besides, you’ll get it fixed tomorrow, and everything will be peachy.”  He bit down on the forkful, instantly regretting it.  “Shit, that’s hot!”

“Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?” the tri-toned man remarked, pulling his own heaping plate forward and ready to dig in.  Everything was absolutely perfect, but something was missing.  “Aw, man, she forgot my drink.”

Roman rapidly fanned his pulsing tongue, the spices mixed with the intense heat causing a blistering sensation to erupt over his taste buds.  He paused in his flailing and quirked a brow toward his cheeky friend. 

“Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?”

The rest of their meal passed in ease, and the men finally leaned back in their seats, bellies thoroughly sated.  Mrs. Chen had passed by their table multiple times, smiling at the boys’ banter (especially when Roman came to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to refill Seth’s drink and plucked the straw from the other’s empty cup, depositing it in his own as to share).  Roman grabbed the bill and scooted out of the booth, knee screaming in pain for being immobile for far too long.  He stumbled once but was caught by a solid arm wrapped around his waist, and he glanced over at Seth in thanks.  The other man merely nodded, and they shuffled to meet the sneaky woman at the register.

“Was everything okay?” Mrs. Chen asked, ringing the duo up and depositing the change into Roman’s outstretched palm.

“Yeah, it was great!” Seth smiled, plucking one of the fivers out of his friend’s hand and sliding it across the counter.  “Thanks for everything.”

Roman nodded in agreement and made to leave, but an ecstatic gasp halted him.  He turned toward the source of the noise and watched Seth bounce excitedly, something small clutched in his hands.

“Ro-Ro!  Can I have these?  Please?” the younger man pleaded, puppy-dog eyes in full effect.  He opened his palms, and Roman shook his head in exasperation.  In the middle of each tanned hand sat a miniature stuffed animal (a tiger and an ox), large plastic eyes staring adorably at the slightly-annoyed Samoan.  “C’mon, I never ask you for anything.” A stare.  “Okay, I take that back, but still!  This won’t even put a dent in your bank account.”

“Fine, fine,” Roman gave in, pulling his wallet out in defeat.  _How can I deny him anything?_   “How much are they?”

From behind the register, Mrs. Chen smiled brightly, shooing the man’s billfold out of her sight.  “Oh, no!  For you, they’re free.”

Seth squealed in delight, repeatedly thanking the woman over his shoulder as Roman drug him out into a strangely splendid afternoon.  They sky was a brilliant azure, and the sun peeked out from behind the fluffy white clouds, shining its splendor across the grimy parking lot.  Once they’d settled into the Sunfire (the taller man groaning at the unrelentingly cramped space), Seth turned toward his friend expectantly.

“Hey, gimme your hand and close your eyes.”

Roman’s brows shot up in confusion, but he complied.  He felt something small and fuzzy being pushed into his hand, and Seth gently closed the meaty fingers over the bundle with an unusually warm, lingering caress.  Ro’s skin sparked from the almost-intimate contact, and if his cheeks showed crimson, it was _most definitely_ from the long-sought sunlight filtering in through the windows.  

“Okay, open!”

The Samoan slowly opened his eyes and uncurled his fingers.  In the middle of his palm sat the tiger, its obnoxiously saucer-like eyes glittering and golden.  A smile tugged at the corners of his chapped lips, and he petted the tiger’s silky fur with his thumb, entranced.

“I, uh, I know you bought this for me, but I really wanted you to have it.  I’ll keep the ox,” Seth stuttered, holding the other plush out for Roman to see.  “Think of it as like friendship bracelets or something, I guess.  Except for the cheap metal that turns your skin green.”  He stared breathlessly at his friend, waiting for the other to respond.  “Oh, man.  You hate it.”

“No, no,” Roman spoke up, glancing at Seth with warmth in his steely grays, “it’s perfect.” 

He clutched the tiger to his chest, heart swelling with love at the seemingly small gesture.  In his 29 years on earth, out of all of the gifts he’d ever received, this was incomparably the most precious to him.  His face lit up in joy, and he pulled the other man toward him, knocking Seth’s hat off in the process.  He pressed his friend’s head into the crook of his neck, and Seth breathed in Roman’s warm, musky scent with a contented sigh.  Roman turned his head ever-so-slightly, warm breath ghosting over the shell of the other’s ear.  He sucked in a breath, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and wrapped his arms tighter around the sinewy body pressed to his. 

“I love it.”


	6. Bandages

To Roman’s overwhelming gratefulness, the work-week passed by in a flash.  He’d settled into his new position with ease, but the stuffy trailer housing the office was incomparable to the fresh air and general freedom he’d felt working out on the field.  With only one other secretary clicking around the office in her four-inch stilettos, the loss of companionship irritated him.  Sure, Summer was a genuine sweetheart, always more than willing to help the newcomer with any issues that would arise, but their amicable acquaintance didn’t even hold a candle to the comradery he felt with his fellow pipeliners.  As he left the office each evening, Summer locking up behind him with a “See ya tomorrow, Ro,” his heart swelled with regret. 

He just felt… lost.

Friday afternoon found the man sitting at his desk, head propped in his hand and eyes drooping in drained boredom.  A half-finished game of solitaire taunted him from the computer monitor, and his eyes slowly scanned over the pixelated cards, trying to find any legal moves.

“You can move that Ace to the top,” Summer spoke up behind him, grabbing the mouse in her immaculately manicured hand and dragging the card to the top of the screen to drop it in the outlined box.

Roman glanced up at her, and the leggy blonde smiled knowingly before retreating to her own desk, stack of freshly copied payroll documents under her arm.  He minimized the game and stared at his desktop, trying to will the clock in the corner of the screen to move faster.  _4:52_.  He grabbed his cell phone off the workstation, quickly unlocking the screen and sliding to the call log, a frustrated sigh escaping him as he eyed the first listing.

_Dean_

_Incoming, Mobile, Sat 11:38a_

It wasn’t uncommon for Dean to disappear for a couple days, but Roman was growing agitated.  Six days!  Was he ignoring him?  Was he dead in a ditch somewhere?  Maybe he was with _Brittany_?  The Samoan growled, trying to erase the image of the box-blonde from his mind.  He tried to focus on Dean instead.  His mischievous, dimpled smile, icy blue eyes staring deeply in longing.  The pale column of his neck splotched crimson with love-bites.  The muscles in his arms straining as he clutched onto the headboard, head tipped back in a breathless moan and sweat beading at his temples.  His creamy thighs wrapped around Roman’s waist as their bodies melded togeth-

_Holy shit, where’d that come from?_

He shook his head, willing the rapidly growing bulge in his khakis to shrink before Summer could happen to chance upon him and his current predicament, and as if on cue, the tall blonde rose from her seat, switching her computer monitor off and heading toward the door.

“You ready to get out of here?” she questioned, grabbing her Grimace-purple parka off the coat rack and pulling it over her slim frame.

Roman jumped at the woman’s words, and he quickly glanced up at her, forcing a slight grin as he mentally repeated his usual boner-withering mantra.  _Naked Grandma.  Naked Grandma.  Naked Dean…  Fuck!  Naked Grandpa.  Naked Grandpa._

“Oh, uh, yeah, definitely.  Been a hell of a week,” he finally replied, thanking the fates that be (and that horrifying childhood moment) for saving his dignity.  He gingerly rose from his own seat, the dull ache in his knee making its reappearance, and shut off his own computer before advancing to meet his coworker. 

“Sure has,” Summer agreed skeptically, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow rising in suspicion.  “You okay there, Ro?  You look a little flushed.”

“Huh?  Oh, yeah.  I-It’s just a little warm in here,” he chuckled nervously, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt before shouldering his own jacket.

Summer hmm’d in response and opened the door, ushering the other man out into the chilly mountain breeze.  She flipped the lights before pulling the door closed and locking it with a click, and the pair parted ways, each crunching over the icy, gravel parking lot toward their respective vehicles.  Roman pressed the unlock button on his fob and opened the hefty driver-side door of the truck, eyes widening in surprise and breath caught in his throat.  Summer zipped by in her tiny Mazda, waving goodbye for the weekend as she made her way down into town, and he mindlessly mimicked her before snapping his head back to stare at the hastily scrawled note taped to the steering wheel.  He hoisted himself up into the leather bucket seat and slammed the door shut before tentatively plucking the scrap of notebook paper from its tape-y prison, eyes rapidly scanning over its contents.

 

_Ro,_

_Long time no see, right?  Busted my phone a few days ago… haven’t been able to go into the city and get a new one, but hey, I’m not dead yet!  Unfortunately._

Roman’s heart clenched.

_Just kidding, ya paranoid motherfucker._

He hated Dean.

_But no, really, I need to talk to you.  It’s kinda important._

Something unintelligible was scribbled out next, ink marring the paper in solid, black spirals.  Roman squinted, trying to make out the faint chicken scratch behind the inky splotch, before giving up and continuing on.

_Can you meet me at my place?  I’ll be there all day, well, uh, except for right now I guess, right?  ‘Cause that’d be kinda weird being in two places at the same time…_

Jesus, Dean even rambled in writing.

_Just come over after you get off.  I’ll order a pizza or something._

The note ended abruptly, just like Dean’s manner of speaking in real-life, and Roman finally let out the breath he didn’t know that he was holding in.  He turned the piece of paper over in his hands, the other’s gravelly words rolling through his mind, before folding it up and depositing it in the glove box.  The truck rumbled to life, and he shifted into drive, shaking his head with a smirk as he followed the distant taillights of Summer’s car down the winding ridge.

* * *

 

What others would call a “dump,” Dean called “home.”  The two-story prairie house had definitely seen betters years.  The weathered, yellow paint was peeling, the roof was patched beyond repair, the yard a spotty mess of dirt and sparse grass, and the once silvery chain-link fence surrounding the property was blotched with rust.  But Dean didn’t care.  At only $450 a month for rent (all utilities included), you couldn’t beat that deal with a stick.  Sure, he could’ve afforded better with his unusual source of income, but if anyone asked why he hadn’t given up the eyesore, all he’d reply with was _“fuck those gas-holes, man!”_.

As Roman pulled up to the sidewalk, a large Husky bounded across the lawn to greet him.  He jumped down from the cab and locked the truck before striding over to unlatch the gate, bending over to pat the snowy pup’s head. 

“Hey, Meeko,” he smiled, the Husky’s tail wagging a million miles per minute.

The screen door creaked open, and Dean padded out onto the porch, two steaming mugs in his hands.  Roman excused himself from the overly excited canine, straightening himself out with a wince and trudging up the few stairs to greet his seemingly long-lost friend.  Dean quirked a smile and pushed the mug of coffee into Roman’s icy hands.

“Two creams, one sugar?” Ro questioned before taking a hesitant sip of the boiling liquid.

“What am I, a savage?”

“Only on occasion.”

“Oh, hardy har.  Get the fuck in here.  It’s freezing.”

The pair entered the strangely tidy house, and Roman flopped himself down on his mentally claimed section of the sofa as Dean retreated into the kitchen, returning with the area phone book.  He plopped down beside Roman and cracked open the tome, tongue darting out to trace his lower lip in concentration as he flicked through the yellowed pages one-handedly.  He lifted the cup of steaming black coffee to his lips, and Roman watched, mesmerized, as his throat bobbed as he swallowed the bitter liquid.  Dean continued flipping through the gritty pages, pausing once to set his mug down on the end table, before he stopped on the restaurant section with an “aha!”.  He stretched his hand out in a “gimme-gimme” motion, and Roman deposited his cell phone in the twitchy palm.  Dean fumbled with the device for a few seconds, grunting in frustration as he tried to figure out how to unlock the annoyingly blank screen.

“Fucking stupid piece of shit.”

“Give it here,” Roman laughed, grabbing the phone and quickly turning the smartphone back on before handing it back.

Dean huffed in annoyance, pressing the call button and punching in the numbers for their favorite local pizza joint.

“How many pies you want?”

“Like 20,” Roman smirked, taking another sip of his creamy beverage.

The auburn rolled his baby blues and made to retort before someone picked up on the other end.  He quickly placed their order and hung up, tossing the phone back to Roman and draining the rest of his own mug, before rising to amble into the kitchen and noisily deposit it in the sink.

“Why’d you order anchovies?” Roman questioned, brow quirked in confusion.  “You know you’ll end up picking them off anyway.”

Meeko trotted into the living room, fluffy dust mop of a tail thwacking against the Samoan’s legs as she deposited her 45 pound self on his feet.

“’Cause that little furball loves ‘em,” Dean replied, reaching down to ruffle the dog’s silky fur. 

The pup nuzzled into the man’s palm, and Roman couldn’t help but smile as his mind flickered to Seth and his love of so-called “beard scritchies.”  God, how he spoiled that brat.  A muffled _thump!_ from upstairs startled the raven out of his wandering thoughts, and he jumped, glancing over at Dean.

“You, uh, have company?”

Dean shrugged nonchalantly, continuing to scratch the Husky behind the ears.  “Yeah, Brittany’s here.  She’s leaving soon, though.  Gotta get to work.”

“Oh,” Roman replied.  _He has a girlfriend, you dumbass._

The stairs creaked as the girl in question made her descent, knee-high patent leather boots sharply clicking on the stained wood.  She reached the landing, pulling at the bottom of the slinky dress riding high on her tanned thighs, and shouldered the duffel bag that was clutched in one of her shaky hands.

“Oh, uh, hi,” Brittany greeted tremulously, obviously startled at the unexpected company.  “Roman, right?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed, a spike of jealousy rising hotly inside of him.  “Sorry.  Dean didn’t tell me you were here.”

Dean paused, breath caught in his throat.  Upon realizing that her current love-fest was over, Meeko mewled, rising and padding out of the room to noisily snuffle around in her food bowl.

Brittany worried her red-stained bottom lip, the lacquer rubbing off onto her crooked, tar-stained teeth.  “No, uh, it’s fine.  I was heading out anyway.”  She stepped down from the landing and pulled the front door open, bloodshot eyes flickering toward her beau.  “I’ll see you around, Mr. Ambrose.”  The door quietly clicked shut behind her, and Roman peered out the window beside him, watching the girl bound down the stairs and toward a slowly approaching Cadillac.  She slipped into the powder blue Brougham without a second glance back, and the sedan rumbled off, kicking up smoggy plumes of exhaust in its retreat.

“Mr. Ambrose?” Roman questioned, turning back to stare inquisitively at the rigid man. “What is this?  Some ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ shit?”

Dean sighed, rising to pace around the small living room.  He nervously tapped at his collarbone out of habit before grabbing at his wild curls, yanking the auburn tresses out of frustration.

“Dean, I was kiddin-” the larger man started, bracing himself on the arm rest to push himself up off the sunken-in sofa.

“No!” the eccentric snapped, instantly regretting his outburst as he watched a wave of hurt roll over his friend’s features.  “N-no, Ro,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I should’ve told you.  Fuck, there’s a lot of shit I’ve been keeping from you.”  He heaved a heavy sigh and strode toward the aching Samoan, dropping to his knees and clutching his friend’s heavy hand between his own trembling palms.

Roman slowly closed his steely grays against the prickling tears and awaited the inevitable confession.

“First of all, Brittany’s a hooker.”

His eyes snapped open in shock, mouth gaping in bewilderment.

“What?”

“Yeah, man.  She’s not my girlfriend.  Just the girl I fuck.  Well, pay to fuck, I guess.”

“… what?”

“Uh, dude.  It’s not really a secret, to be honest.  Pretty sure everyone in town knows her by now.”

Roman shook his head.  “I thought she worked at that shitty gas station over on Pine?”

Dean choked out a laugh, shaking his own head at Roman’s obliviousness.  “Well, yeah, but only like a couple days a week.  Besides, who wears a practically see-through outfit like that to work in a convenience store?”

“Prostitutes, apparently.”

“Touché.”

Roman mulled over the new information, a glimmer of hope on the horizon.  _So, he’s available, right?_   He pushed the guilty thought out of his head as he noticed that Dean was still upset.  “Well, uh, that’s… that’s cool?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean replied, thoughtlessly lacing his fingers with Roman’s thicker digits and holding them together for a few long seconds (Roman bit at his lower lip, heartstrings tugging at the intimate contact.  _God, please don’t let go.)_ before slipping free from the embrace.  “She, uh, she lives here too.  We kinda struck up a deal that night at the bar.”

“Ah, so that’s how you came up with that ridiculous brothel idea.”

“No,” Dean answered honestly, cocking his head to the side, “I just think it would be a nice tourist attraction to our beautiful city.”

Ro squinted at the other man, not sure if the crackpot was kidding or not, but gave up when he remembered that there was something _way bigger_ than this still to be discussed.

“I, uh, there’s something else I’ve been keeping from you, but I’m pretty sure you’ve already guessed.”  The auburn sucked in a shaky breath before he continued.  “I’m a narc dealer.”

 _Thank god I didn’t have to ask._ “Y-yeah.  I kinda got that feeling when I saw you in an exchange the other da-”

“I’m usually not that careless,” Dean grumbled, cutting the larger man off before he could finish.  “I was just so fucking scared.”

“Of what?  That scrawny kid?” Ro asked, brows furrowing together.  “’Cause seriously, Dean, he looked like a gust of wind could carry him away.”

Dean shook his head.  “No, man.  I had a cop on my tail like all day.  Pig finally fucked off after he lost my trail when I stopped for some coffee.”

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t have a habit of leaving breadcrumbs then?” Ro forcibly chuckled, internally horrified at the thought of his friend behind cold, steel bars.

“Didn’t help, though, right?  Of course you guys had to be sitting _right fucking there_ where I told that shitty ass kid I’d meet him.”

“Well, you _did_ kinda make it a point to peer in on us if you don’t remember.”

“Yeah, speaking of, you seriously look like the fucking Unabomber under the right conditions.”

Roman flashed the man a dirty scowl, trying to dust off the remaining piece of his battered ego.  “Wow, that really hurts coming from a Steven Tyler wannabe.”

“Now that stings!” Dean exclaimed, clutching at his chest dramatically.  “You kiss your mom with that sassy mouth, Ro?”

 _No, but I’d love to kiss yours._   “Oh, fuck off.”

“But really, you aren’t pissed off at me?  I mean, it was kind of a dick move keeping this shit hidden from you for so long.”

“No, Dean,” Roman shook his head, hardened stare softening into a worried gaze.  “I just want you to be careful.  I- I’ve had some issues in the past with it, but I just want you to be safe.”  _I don’t know what I’d do without you._  

Dean tentatively reached up to grasp the raven’s chin, his thumb stroking dangerously close to the plump bottom lip. 

“Always.”

Roman stilled, heart beating at an alarmingly quick pace and threatening to burst from his chest.  Finally, the digit softly, slowly brushed over the chapped skin, and his mind raced, silently pleading for the other man to just pull him forward and into an inevitably mind-blowing lip-lock.

“There’s something else I’ve been keeping from you,” Dean breathed, leaning closer as his hand slid down to wrap around the thick column of Roman’s neck.

_Please please please please._

“I-“

A sharp rap at the door forced the two men apart, and Roman sunk back into the threadbare cushions, running a weary hand through his ebony mane.  _Great fucking timing!_   Dean looked disgruntled as well as he rose to greet the delivery man, a deep-set frown etched across his features.  He returned a minute later, cardboard boxes emanating with the deliciously greasy aroma of fresh, hot pepperoni clutched in his shaky hands.  He padded toward the Samoan, shifting the containers to one arm before grabbing Roman’s empty coffee cup from the end table.

“Gonna put these in the kitchen, okay?” the auburn muttered over his retreating shoulder.  “You wanna find a movie or something?”

Roman slowly nodded his head in agreement and made to push himself up, but his limbs were anchors, rooting him to his seat with their unyielding pressure.  The cacophony of shattering porcelain in the next room roared over the deafening silence, and he winced, his own strength cracking along with the fragile material.

Dean reappeared a few minutes later, a crimson splotched towel hastily wrapped around his hand.  He waved off Roman’s concerned look and ascended the creaky stairs two at a time.  The hiss of a faucet turned on full-blast echoed down the stairwell followed by muffled cursing and the clatter of scattering odds-and-ends.  Curious, Roman finally clambered out of his seat, statue-like legs dragging across the shag carpet as he approached the bottom of the staircase.  He grit his teeth and started the climb, knee screaming in pain with each step.  Finally, he reached the top, bracing himself on the railing as his lungs heaved from exhaustion.

Once he’d caught his breath, Roman crept down the darkened hallway.  He paused in front of the cracked bathroom door, the light inside spilling out into the blackened alcove in a pale ray.  He slowly pushed the door open, and Dean stilled, a roll of gauze clenched between his teeth as the other end wound around his bloody appendage.

“Let me get that,” Roman muttered, loafers clomping across the tile floor toward the injured auburn.  He reached up, grabbing the dampened bandage from his friend’s mouth, and began to wrap the cotton further around the man’s split palm.  He worked diligently, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.

Dean’s eyes flickered between the bandage slowly shielding the seeping wound and Roman’s stone-set features, trying and failing to find his voice.

“So,” Ro started slowly, tucking the loose end of the roll under a flap of gauze and giving Dean’s hand a gentle pat before releasing it back to its owner.  “There, uh, there was something else you wanted to tell me?”

The scruffy man bit the inside of his cheek, sucking a deep breath in through his nose.  “Yeah, but I, uh, I don’t want you to hate me for it,” he gritted out, scuffing the toe of his boot against the dirty tile.

“I could never hate you, Dean,” Roman confirmed, finally finding his fading confidence within the rubble of himself.  He was tired, and hell, if Dean could come clean, then so could he.  “Now, c’mon.”

Dean glanced up at his reflection in the mirror, the vulnerable expression plastered across his face frightening the usually stoic man.  He frowned deeply, lines of worry etching themselves across his forehead in spidery grooves, before turning the face the Samoan.

“You, uh, you remember me telling you about Sami, right?”

Roman’s brows furrowed as he pulled the memory of their long-ago conversation to the forefront.  “Yeah, your, uh, ex-girlfriend, right?”

“Boyfriend, actually.”    

_Oh… oh!_

“Well, uh, he’s kind of the reason I haven’t been around the past few days,” Dean continued, silently thankful that his friend’s current expression wasn’t one of complete and utter disgust.  “Called me up Monday.  Still don’t know how he got my number, but uh, we talked for a while, and he wants me to move back to Cinci.  To start over.”

Roman felt like the air had been forced out of his lungs, and he stuttered, the courage he’d finally grasped slipping through his nimble fingers like fine grains of sand.

“Cincinnati.”

“Yeah, uh, that’s what Cinci is,” Dean chuckled nervously, scratching at the back of his head with his uninjured hand.

“Cincinnati,” Roman repeated, a broken record repeating itself on his tongue.

“Roman, I’m not even sure I’m gonna go through with it, to be honest.  Sami hasn’t even tried to contact me in years, but if he’s being legit, then… then this could be the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.”

“The best decision of your life,” the raven muttered incredulously.  His heart was absolutely shattered, laying in a broken, bloody heap at his feet, and of course, Dean had to go ahead and stomp on it, squeezing any remaining feeling from the already crushed organ. 

He was absolutely numb.

For some strange, odd reason, distant memories of home cascaded over him in Technicolor.  The golden sand warm beneath his curling toes, the salty ocean breeze ghosting over his tanned skin in a soothing caress.  The blistering sun shining its rays of splendor across the coastline.  Stinging lungfuls of briny water from the rolling waves that made him feel positively, wonderfully _alive_.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

Afternoons on his knees in the garden, his mother beside him beaming in pride as she explained the difference between hibiscuses and tiger lilies.  She’d carefully snipped one of the spotty, orange blossoms and reached over, gently tucking the flower behind the man’s ear with a warm, loving smile.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

Peaceful mornings spent in relaxed stretching, the squishy yoga mat beneath his feet and the fragrant aroma of honeysuckle permeating the air as they held their poses.  Warrior.  Dolphin.  Eagle.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

He closed his eyes, letting the images wash over him like high tide, sinking deeper to the gritty seabed below to escape the surrounding, tumultuous world.

_Breathe in._


	7. Chimera

“Woah woah woah woah woah, back it up!  _Now, what the fuck did you just say_?”

Another Friday night perched on his usual barstool, Roman sat wearily, practically neglected longneck bottle of Yuengling clutched in his shaky grip.  Seth leaned across the counter, eyes wide in shock as the other man retold the evening’s events.

“Dean’s moving back to Ohio,” Roman muttered, finally taking a hard swig of the icy lager.  He grimaced as the ale hit his empty stomach, but the initial burn gave a little life to his otherwise comatose self.

“What?  Why?  God, Ro, did you finally gather up the balls to tell him how you feel, so that’s why he’s leaving?”

“No, but thank you _so much_ for the vote of confidence.”

Seth huffed, tucking a loose piece of freshly platinum hair behind his ear.  “That’s all he said?  That he’s just packing up and moving back to Cincinnati?”

“Not exactly.  He said he wasn’t sure, but knowing Dean…” the Samoan trailed off, staring blankly at the wall behind the bartender.

“You never really know,” the other finished, biting his lip in worry.  “He probably has a reason for suddenly wanting to go back to the one place he despises other than this shithole, right?”

“Said his ex called him up the other day,” Ro grumbled, glancing back toward his friend.  “Wants to start over or whatever.”

“That Sami bitch?  She really tore him up…”

“He,” Roman corrected, taking another gulp of his lager.

Seth reeled back in surprise.  “Well, shit.  I guess he _does_ swing on our side of the golf course.”

Roman choked on his mouthful of beer, slamming the bottle down on the bar and spluttering at Seth’s unexpected confession, but the two-toned man ignored his friend’s astonished reaction, continuing on over the harsh coughing.

“But still, how can this be any good for him?  It took Dean _years_ to get over that asswipe, and now he’s just wanting to forget everything and go back to him?  You need to put a stop to it, Ro, because if you don’t, then you could be missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime.”

Ro wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, having finally settled down from his bitter hacking, and pushed the suddenly unappetizing drink out of his view.  “It’s passed, Seth,” he muttered darkly, pulling his mane out of the tight bun at the nape of his neck and letting it fall over his shoulders in ebony waves.  “He’s pretty serious.  Said this could possibly be the best decision of his life.  A-and I don’t know how I could even possibly compete with that.”

“Damn it, Ro!” Seth exclaimed, smacking his palms off the counter in irritation and leaning in closer, damn near nose-to-nose with the larger man.  “You need to just fucking man up and tell him!  Who cares about that dickbag anyway?  Sami left Dean.  Left him in the fucking cold with nowhere else to go.  Did you know that?  Did you know that Sami fuckwad Callihan turned Dean over to the police when his little narcotics ring got busted?  Told ‘em Dean was their drug lord and got him locked up until he was proven innocent?  So, do you _really_ think he needs to be running back to that piece of shit?  Especially with how he currently makes a living?”

Roman sucked in a harsh breath.  Why would Dean keep that from him?  Why would he tell _Seth_ of all people?  Why did he have to fall in love with the one man whose main objective, it seemed, was to make him _completely fucking miserable?_

“Hey!  Can we get some fucking service over here, or are you cream puffs too busy with your little gossip session?” an irate voice interrupted from the other end of the bar.

Seth screwed his eyes shut and bit the inside of his cheek roughly, tugging at the tender lining in an attempt from flying off the handle.

“Hey, pretty boy!” the man hollered again, pounding his meaty fist on the scuffed counter and rattling the few coins in the bottom of the measly tip jar.  “I’m not paying you to braid your boyfriend’s hair.  Now get over here and take my damn order!”

 _10… 9… 8… fuck it._   “Just get the fuck out!” the bartender snapped, pushing himself back to glare daggers at the other man.  _What is this guy? A Dragonball Z knock-off?_   “All of you!” he motioned toward the few other patrons who had turned to watch the spectacle in anticipation of a heated altercation.  “The party ain’t over, but you can’t stay here.  So get the hell out!”

The enraged guest rolled his eyes, muttering a few select slurs under his breath before barging out of the pub, the other customers eventually trickling out behind the short-stacked Super Saiyan.  Once the men were alone, Seth heaved a heavy sigh, scrubbing his hands over his tired face.

“Ro,” he started softly, a small, sad chuckle bubbling up from his chest, “You’re such a fucking idiot, man.”

Roman was taken aback by his friend’s brusque statement.  “I can leave too, if you want,” he sneered, eyes shifting into two tiny, blackened slits.  “Thank you _so much_ for your help, Seth.”  He made to leave, one foot on the floor and ready to get out the door, but Seth stopped him with a hard grip on his broad shoulders.  The two-toned man spun the other around to face a weathered stare.

“Ro-Ro.  Baby.  _Sweetheart_ ,” he started, fingers creeping out to snatch Roman’s keys off the counter and slip them into the back pocket of his jeans, “I’m taking your gloomy ass over there, so if you aren’t in that truck by the time I get this place locked up, I’ll drag you there by your fucking dick.”  The Samoan made no attempt to get up.  “You heard me, asshole.  Now get!”

* * *

 

Not even five minutes later, the two men were sitting in Roman’s pickup, Seth in the driver’s seat (much to Roman’s displeasure) and the child-safety lock engaged on the passenger-side door, trapping the larger man inside.  The truck rumbled to life, and Seth shifted into drive, propelling them onward toward South-Side Wellsboro.

“So, you know the plan, babe?” Seth questioned, leaning back in the leather bucket seat with a satisfied sigh.  “Wow, this is comfy.  How would I go about getting a cushy ride like this?  Totally beats my hunk of junk any day.”

Roman ignored the other man, opting instead to stare out the window at the passing streetlamps.

“Romie, come on.  You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Ro growled, rage boiling inside of him like molten lava.  “Causing a scene, practically taking me hostage, and now forcing me to confront Dean?  Why in the world would I be upset?”

“I’m sensing a little hostility here.”

Seth tapped the brake pedal, his left foot pressing down on the phantom clutch as they coasted to stop at the single traffic light in town.  Roman’s brain went into overdrive, cranking out images of him beating the other man senseless and commandeering the vehicle, but unfortunately, the daydream was short-lived as the light finally flipped from red to green.  Seth cranked the steering wheel, making a sharp right and accelerating onto Virginia before quickly turning left onto Magnolia, and Roman’s stomach dropped like a lead balloon.  _Only three more blocks._  

“Seth, it’s like midnight.  I’m sure he’s gone to bed already,” the raven spoke up, silently pleading for the man to just turn around and take them back to the safety of the Pit.

“Nice try, Ro, but this is _Dean_ we’re talking about.  Crazy fucker doesn’t go to bed until like five anyway.  His blood pretty much consists of cheap coffee and energy drinks.”

Sterling Street.

“You know, if I had any sense, I’d have already called the cops by now.”

“If you had any sense, Dean wouldn’t be considering moving to Cincinnati.”

Wolf Avenue.

“Seth, I’m seriously giving you until the count of three to turn this fucking truck around.”

“Or what?  You gonna grab the steering wheel out of my hands?  Good luck explaining this to your boss.  ‘Oh, that giant tree-shaped dent?  I was just being a complete idiot and decided to jeopardize my best friend’s life because he was trying to show me how big of an ass I was being’.”

“You aren’t my best friend.”

“That still doesn’t _not_ hurt.”

Seth pressed the brake, slowing the truck to a reasonable 25mph as they coasted down the narrow street, the shabby two-story house sticking out like a sore thumb in the distance.  Roman hated Seth with a burning passion.  He wanted to wring the man’s neck, watch his smug face purple from the lack of oxygen as his limbs convulsed and twitched in their final moments.  Yank on the trashy platinum patch of hair, smiling in sadistic glee as the tresses came back a bloody mess in his hands.  Dump his body in the Green.  Let the mangy, feral cats pick at his mottled flesh.  Fuck his boss.  Seth was a dead man.

When they finally reached the sidewalk in front of Dean’s house, Seth threw the truck in park and shut the engine off, letting the overwhelming silence watch over them.  Roman’s heart clenched in his chest, breaths shallow and trembling.  The half-brunette exited the vehicle and stomped around to the other side, yanking open the passenger door and waving the raven on.

“C’mon, Ro.  We don’t have all night.”

“I can’t do it.”

“Shut the fuck up already and get out of the goddamn truck,” Seth spat, reaching over to unbuckle Roman’s seat belt and forcibly pull the man out of the hulking machine. 

He slammed the door shut with an echoing _bang!_ and wrapped one hand tightly around his friend’s bicep, pulling him along the cracked concrete and up to the rusty gate separating them from Roman’s personal, inevitable hell.  Seth glanced back over his shoulder, squinting at the beat-up, lizard green Cavalier he’d parked behind.  _Ohio plates?_   He shook his head and unlatched the gate, pushing Roman into the yard on shaky legs.  They stumbled up the creaky stairs leading to the porch, the Samoan wincing in pain with each steep step.  Once they’d reached the top, Seth threw the screen door open, knuckles meeting the bare wood behind it in a powerful rap as Roman tried to pull away from his unyielding grip.

Dean’s silhouette appeared behind the curtained window to their side, quickly pacing from the room as his bouncy, auburn curls shifted into view through the cracked, ornamented glass at the top of the entryway.  The clunk of a deadbolt being unlocked was deafening, and soon enough, the door cracked open, a sliver of golden light spilling out across the shadowy porch.  Roman shifted uncomfortably, fingers twitching and breath caught in his throat as Dean padded out onto the dirty floorboards.

“Uh, hey,” the crackpot greeted, obviously surprised at his unexpected visitors, “What are you guys doing here?”

Roman couldn’t look at him, a heated flush staining his cheeks bright red in embarrassment, anger, or, hell, even both, as his eyes flickered over the cobwebs lazily hanging in the corner of the doorframe.  Seth finally released his arm, and his fingers twitched, longing to just reach out and snatch the keys from his belt loop and sprint out of the suffocating nightmare.

“Ro here has something he’d like to tell you,” the two-toned man acknowledged Dean, nodding at the stony figure to his left.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, arms crossing his chest as he awaited the Samoan’s confession.  The gauze was still wrapped around his injured hand, splotches of dried blood littering the white cotton.  “You come here to tell me why you ran out earlier?  Because I’d really love to hear this story.”  No reply.  “Well?  I don’t have all night.”

With every scrap of broken courage he could muster, Roman finally met Dean’s annoyed gaze.  His chest was tight, heart fluttering in terror.  Sweat rolled down his back, staining the lavender button-up plastered against his sweltering skin beneath the heavy leather jacket.  At the absolutely petrified expression in his steely grays, Dean’s own baby blues softened.  _Stop hiding from me, Ro._

Roman finally, _slowly_ opened his mouth to reply, mangled words caught in his constricted throat.  “I- I needed you to know that-“

“What are you doing, babe?”

Seth, who was busy watching a grubby raccoon hop over the chain-link to snuffle around in the neighbors’ overflowing trashcan, snapped his head toward the familiar, gruff voice.  His eyes widened in shock before narrowing into fiery slits, a deep growl bubbling up inside of his chest.  The source of the question ambled out onto the porch, one muscular arm wrapping itself possessively around Dean’s trim waist.  Upon recognizing the two men from earlier, the Super Saiyan flashed a devious smile, fingers creeping down to lightly dip beneath the waistband of Dean’s gym shorts.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were expecting company, Mox.”

“ _Mox?_ ” Seth inquired, bushy brows raised in bemusement.

Dean away from the unwelcome touch, eyes briefly flickering toward Seth before returning to watch the color quickly drain from Roman’s face, the man’s ebony hair accentuating his sickly pallor.

“Just an old nickname.  Ro, you had something to tell me?”

Seth placed a comforting palm at the small of Ro’s back, and the rigid man melted into the reassuring contact.  “I think it would be best if we were alone,” he grunted, pointedly throwing a shady leer toward the shortest of the group.  “Don’t appreciate this guy sticking his nose in our business.”

The Vegeta look-alike shot the pair a sickeningly sweet smile, eyes sparkling with rancor.  “Sami Callihan,” he sneered, extending a hand out in greeting.  “And anything that you tell Dean can _surely_ be said in front of me, right?”

Seth bared his teeth furiously, and he made to retort before Roman took a surprisingly sanguine step forward, pressing himself into Sami’s personal bubble.  He gripped the shorter man’s hand stiffly, lips curling into a pleased smirk as he felt the other’s bones slightly crunch beneath the unwieldy pressure.

“Roman Reigns,” he replied, baritone cool and unfaltering.

After a few, long moments, he finally released Sami’s hand, eyes following as the man quickly pulled the appendage back to clutch it against his chest.  The Samoan turned toward Dean and reached out to firmly cup his stubbly jaw, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the prickly flesh.  The eccentric nuzzled into the touch, lashes fluttering and heart racing, and Roman leaned in, warm breath ghosting over Dean’s slightly-parted lips.

“Dean,” he started, and the other man’s eyes slowly opened to stare into the breathtakingly silvery orbs.  “Do you _really_ want to leave?”

There was a pause as all of the hidden memories came flooding back.  Scared and alone, the battered phone in his hand completely void of any contacts, text messages, or voicemails.  The sharp knock on the door, the uniformed police officer half-assedly reading him his rights as his arms were wrenched and cuffed behind his back.  The muggy cell they’d locked him in, the metal bars solid and cold beneath his straining grip.  When he was unceremoniously carted off to  county, tossed into another grimy cell with a large, heavily tattooed skinhead named “Bubba” who chose to spend his days reading Jane Austen novels rather than live up to his stereotype.  The day he was finally released of all charges, the sky a brilliant blue, the sun shining radiantly and nothing like the movies portrayed.  The birds happily chirping as he made his final trek home.  The eviction notice on the door of the apartment.  Sami’s final “ _I love you_ ” before he’d left that fateful morning, a peck against his forehead and a warm hug as he traced the future puncture wound with a heavy hand.  _Et tu, Brute?_  

“No,” Dean finally realized, breath caught in his throat.

Beside them, Sami’s eyes widened, and he reached out toward his ex, trying to break the pair apart.  Seth rushed forward, grabbing the man’s wrists in a bruising grip and pressing him up against the peeling, aluminum siding.  “Don’t even fucking try it, you bastard,” he hissed into Sami’s ear, applying even more pressure to the joints as he fought against the crippling grip.  The man stilled in his thrashing, shaking his head in defeat.

 “I can’t go on hiding this anymore,” Roman muttered, surging forward to close the tiny gap between them.  Dean gasped in shock as the larger man pressed his lips against his in a chaste kiss, lashes fluttering against his rosy cheeks as he finally relented into the yearning contact.  His arms rose to wrap around the man’s waist, hands bunching in the soft leather of his jacket in a possessive grip.  Roman growled deep in his throat, lightly nipping at Dean’s plump, bottom lip, and the auburn moaned, mouth parting to allow the other’s tongue to enter and explore.  Learn his body from inside out.  Take him.  Own him.

Reluctantly, they separated, panting against each other’s lips as they tried to catch their breath.  Dean slid his hands up, running them through Roman’s silky, ebony waves with a dopey grin.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Ro breathed, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a matching smile.

“Probably as long as I’ve wanted you to,” the eccentric replied, pulling the Samoan into another hungry kiss.

“He’s not coming back, is he?” Sami asked sadly, and Seth relinquished his hold, allowing the shorter man to turn and view the unfolding spectacle.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

The powdery Brougham rolled up to the curb, and Brittany hopped out, blowing a kiss at the driver and bounding toward the unlatched gate, a skip in her step as her heels clicked across the pavement.  She bobbed her head to a silent tune, mouthing the words as she mindlessly closed the gate and clomped up the stairs, the heavy duffel bag banging against her hip.

“Oh!” she gasped, brows arched in surprise as she stepped up onto the porch.  “Am I, uh, interrupting something?”

Dean pulled back from the liplock and peeked out over Roman’s broad shoulder.  “Uh, hey Britt,” he greeted the blonde awkwardly, pushing the mop of auburn curls back out of his eyes.  “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

Brittany rolled her eyes, her pouty crimson lips turning up in a smirk.  “Gals like me gotta sleep too, Mr. Ambrose,” she chided, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a hot date with a bubble bath.  We still got those lavender bead thingies?”  A nod.  “Okay, cool.  Still got any of that pizza left?”  Another nod.  “Mine now.”  She pushed past the group, slipping in through the crack in the door. 

The men stood in awkward silence.  Sami was fuming, Seth was relieved, Dean was practically reeling in the high of the moment, and Roman, well, poor Roman was trying (and failing) to will his rapidly stiffening erection to wilt.

The bubbly blonde’s head popped back through the doorway, startling the congregation.  “Oh, and Mr. Ambrose?  Keep it PG, will ya?  I don’t need you two fucking like rabbits out here on the porch.”  She slipped back inside, boots clicking on the creaky stairs as she trotted up to the second floor.

“So, uh, I guess I should get out of here,” Sami spoke up, heavy footfalls clunking against the floorboards and proverbial tail between his legs as he made his hasty retreat.  He glanced back over his shoulder at Dean, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he mulled over the previous events.  “Is this really what you want to do, Mox?”

Dean grasped Roman’s heavy hand in his, lacing their fingers together in solemn resolution.  He raised their clasped hands and pressed a chaste kissed to the tanned flesh, icy orbs starting longingly into Roman’s own steely grays. 

“It’s the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.”


	8. Wake Up Call

The stars were breathtaking, really.  Like crisp holes punched out of black construction paper, twinkling brightly in the inky sky and shining their splendor down upon anyone who was fortunate enough to witness the absolutely awe-inspiring beauty.

Cassiopeia.  Cepheus.  Draco.

His index finger lifted toward the heavens, gently tracing the invisible lines connecting the celestial bodies, forming brilliant constellations beneath the artist’s loving touch.

_Hercules, give me strength._

_Cygnus, give me courage._

_Lyra, give me serenity._

He looked out over the deep, rippling velvet, calmly watching as the steady waves washed upon the shoreline, brilliant points of light reflected in the ebony tide.  _Oh_ , how he wished to be enveloped by the stars, swaddled and cocooned in the nest of angelic whispers.  His fingers gripped the knotty railing, splintering his palms as he pushed himself over the barricade.  The edge of the Earth in the distance.  The salty breeze ghosting over his prickled flesh.  The scintillating pin-pricks echoing in his steely orbs.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

* * *

 

Roman’s eyes fluttered open, quickly adjusting to the silent darkness surrounding him.  He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the dense fog rattling his brain, and reached out, palming at the delicate, worn sheets he was nestled within.  A door creaked open on the other side of the room, casting a slice of amber light across the bed as a shadowy figure appeared in the entrance.  The silhouette peered around the doorframe at him before slowly retreating with a shake of its head.  A broken sound of protest gurgled up from Roman’s throat, and the figure turned back, gently pushing the door open and calmly padding toward the bed.  The mattress sank under the pressure of another body as the shadow reached out, cool palm pressed against his sticky forehead.

“Hey,” Dean whispered, smoothing the sweaty locks of charcoal back from his temples, icy blues shining in the pitch-black.  “You gave me a good bit of a scare back there.”

_Back where?_

“Passed out right on the bathroom floor.  Thought you had a stroke or something.  Wouldn’t surprise me, though, with how much you overwork yourself.”

_No.  Fuck no._

“What?” Roman rasped, throat as dry as the Sahara.

“Yeah, man.  Took me a little effort to get your ass in here, but it’s not like I was just gonna leave you there.  Did you know that you’re really fucking heavy, though?  Jesus, could’ve sworn I threw my back out when I lifted you up the first time.”

“The first time?”

“Aw fuck.  I mean, it’s not like I dropped you or anything.  Okay, well, not _too_ hard.  You _might_ want to get your head checked out, though.”

Roman screwed his eyes shut, a dull ache thumping at the back of his skull.  His inner voice was screaming, clawing and tearing at every fiber of his being like a wild, ferocious beast.  _It was all a dream?  A fucking dream?!_

“Still,” Dean continued, mindlessly toying with the loose wisps of onyx between his fingers, “I’m glad you’re alright.  Just… just get some rest, okay?”

“Yeah.  Th- thanks, man.”

The auburn quirked a soft, sad smile and bent down to press a chaste kiss against the Samoan’s damp forehead.  He hesitated, mouth set around tender words that wouldn’t form, and as quickly as he came, he left, the door faintly clicking closed behind him, once again bathing the small bedroom in inky stillness.

* * *

 

The rich, invigorating aroma of sizzling bacon wafted up from the kitchen as Roman made his cautious descent down the creaky stairs.  He paused, wondering when Dean learned how to cook (since the crackpot was the only person Roman had ever encountered who could manage to burn water), before shrugging and continuing on into the small cookery.  Pots and pans clanged on the stovetop, cutting over the dulcet tones of LeAnn Rimes as they crackled through the small stereo sitting on the counter.  Brittany stood in front of the stove bobbing her head to the beat, a weathered, floral apron tied around her petite waist.  She was deftly twirling a spatula between her nimble fingers, and Roman cleared his throat as he stepped onto the scuffed linoleum, hoping to make his appearance evident.

“Oh!  Good morning!” the blonde greeted, startled at the unexpected intruder as the plastic utensil slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor.  She reached over and twisted the stereo’s volume dial, bringing the music to a low whisper.  _Underneath the starlight, we’ll be lost in the rhythm.  Feel it steal your heart tonight._   “I’m sorry if I woke ya.  Mr. Ambrose is still asleep if you’re lookin’ for him,” the girl continued, stooping down to retrieve the dirty spatula.  She padded over to the sink and turned on the tap, letting the scalding water chase the invisible filth down the drain before returning to the sizzling skillet of bacon and eggs.  “You want some?”

Roman grimaced as she prodded at the strips of meat, vaguely remembering his chat with Dean about the dirty coffee pots at the Quick Stop.  “Ah, no thanks.”

“Hm?  Okie doke.  Just don’t say I didn’t offer,” Brittany winked, grabbing a chipped plate off the counter and scooping herself a hearty portion.  She plopped herself down at the rickety table, ravenously digging into the meal.  “So,” she started through a mouthful of egg, “Mr. Ambrose said you weren’t feeling too well.  I heard there’s a nasty bug going ‘round… maybe ya caught that?”

“No, I don’t think-“

“’Samoan Superman’ here passed out on the bathroom floor,” Dean yawned, pushing past Roman and heading toward the fridge as he made his entrance.  “Had to drag his ass to bed or else you’d have been in for a not-so-pleasant surprise when you got back last night.”  He grabbed a carton of orange juice from the door and tipped his head back, chugging the pulpy liquid straight from the open mouth. 

Roman keened at the sight, craving to pepper the pale column of the man’s neck with purpled love bites.  Dean’s shirt rode up just the tiniest bit, exposing a sliver of tantalizingly milky flesh that the Samoan felt the sudden urge to trace with his tongue.  Dip below the waistband of those low-slung sweatpants.  Tease and taste.  Lick and bite.  Suck and- _Jesus Christ, I cannot deal with this right now._

“You want some?” Dean questioned, gesturing at Roman with the half-empty box and startling the man out of his lust-induced trance.

 _Yeah I do._   “Uh, n-no, I’m fine,” Roman stuttered, standing awkwardly in the doorway.  He scrunched his nose at the wrinkled dress shirt that was clinging to his sticky skin, pulling at the dampened fabric in distaste.  “Hey, I’m gonna head out of here, okay?  Gotta get a shower.  But, uh, thanks for letting me stay the night.”

Dean quirked a brow at his friend.  “What’s the rush?  Grab a shower here, man.  There should be fresh towels up in the closet.”

 _You son of a bitch._   “Yeah, uh, I guess I could do that,” Ro relented, silently resenting the other man and his blatant obliviousness of his current predicament.  He turned and exited the kitchen in a rush, taking the stairs two at a time as his injured knee groaned in protest.

Brittany glanced up at her roommate, matching his expression with an arched brow of her own.  “Strange guy,” she muttered, dumping her empty plate in the sink with a _clunk_.

Dean just shook his head.

* * *

 

Steam filled the small bathroom, settling over the area in a thick, comforting mist.  Roman sighed deeply as the warm water cascaded over his weary muscles, soothing the aches and pains of everyday life, and he ran his hands through his thick locks, pulling at the knots and tangles that had developed overnight.  He grabbed a bottle of shampoo off the shower caddy (pleasantly surprised at the “sulfate-free” label) and squeezed a dollop of the strawberry scented soap into his palm before working it into a foamy lather and scrubbing it through his mane.  Closing his eyes, he let the sensations wash over him like the tide upon the coast, enveloping his senses with comfort and calm and Dea- _Motherfucker._

The man growled, head thunking back against the cool tile.  He was irritated.  Annoyed at the fact that his _every goddamn waking moment_ seemingly centered around the scruffy auburn.  Every waking moment?  Hell, now he even invaded the man’s _dreams_.  Roman pushed back off the wall and allowed the temperate spray to wash the grimy suds from his tresses.  He grabbed at the matching conditioner bottle and squeezed a glob of it into his palm, biting his lip wantonly at the gooey, off-white- _Okay, this is getting ridiculous.  I am not desperate enough to get off to conditioner._  With another groan, he hurriedly slicked the creamy substance through his hair and rinsed, hoping to finish up before “mini-Ro” could make his not-so-welcome appearance.  He turned the shower off and flung open the curtain, a small smirk playing at his lips as he noticed the fresh stack of clothing sitting on the toilet seat.

Roman dried off with the ratty towel he’d found in the closet and threw it in the hamper before setting into the pile of garments.  He quirked a brow at the Batman emblazoned boxers but threw them on anyway, along with the ( _Wow, these are tight)_ faded blue jeans and buttery-soft t-shirt that his friend had left for him.  Pulling one of the sleeves up to his nose, he inhaled deeply, the cloying scent of musk and tobacco and something _so imperceptibly Dean_ permeating his senses in a way that made him just want to crawl inside of the other man, feel him from the inside out.

“We are _not_ getting into this right now,” he growled aloud with a sharp glare toward his groin.  He pushed the bathroom door open and stepped out into the hallway, almost knocking over a much unexpected “lunatic fringe” in the process.  “Oh, shit!”

Dean’s hands raised on their own, pressing at Roman’s hardened pectorals to maintain his stability.  Upon noticing what he was grabbing onto, he quickly pulled back, a rosy blush creeping over his cheeks.  “Uh, hey,” he coughed, trying to compose himself, “Is there, uh, any way you could take me into town today?  Britt has an appointment at the clinic, and I told her she could use my car.”

Roman studied the auburn for a second before giving him a nod.  “Sure.  I needed to go anyway.”

“Cool deal.  Can we leave now, though?  I’ve kind of been expecting a call, and y’know, having no phone and all…”

“Y-yeah, man.  No problem,” the raven choked out, dream-Sami and his smug mug running nausea-inducing laps around Roman’s brain.  “Lemme throw my shoes on, and we’ll go.”

Dean smiled in appreciation and bounded off down the stairs, grabbing his flannel jacket off the newel post and hastily throwing it over his shoulders as he bounced out the front door to anxiously wait by Roman’s pickup.  He leaned against the ivory fiberglass and reached into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling his battered cell phone out in the process.  Flipping the device open, he jammed his finger on the power button, watching the screen brightly flash as it sluggishly booted up.  He navigated to his text messages and opened a new draft, hurriedly scrolling through his contacts before reaching the ‘S’ directory.  Seth’s highlighted name popped up on the recipient line, and his thumbs set to work on the tiny keyboard, rapidly tapping out a quick message to his two-toned comrade.

_To: Seth_

_I finally got him alone.  Should I tell him or what?_

He glanced up toward the house, thankful that Roman was nowhere near, and silently willed the bartender to hurry up.  The phone chimed in notification of a reply, and he opened the message, eyes hastily scanning over the tiny text.

_From: Seth_

_No way, dude.  You gotta let him take the first step.  It’s his journey, and he don’t need us fucking it up._

Dean let out a frustrated whine.  “Damn it, Ro.  You can hurry up anytime you want,” he grumbled, snapping the phone closed and angrily pocketing it.  He kicked at the melting slush littering the road, mulling over Seth’s arcane response and cursing the man under his breath.  A warm pat on his shoulder brought him back to reality, and he glanced up into the steely grays of his best friend.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting long,” Roman winked as he unlocked the truck and clambered in.

Dean hopped up into the passenger seat beside him and slammed the door shut with a huff.  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.  Let’s get going.  I’d like to make it there by sundown, grandma.”

Roman rolled his eyes at the auburn and threw the vehicle into drive, pulling away from the curb and heading toward Route 19.  He made a left onto the deserted highway and picked up speed, propelling them onward toward Summersville.  They rode on in relative silence, the only sounds coming from the rumbling engines of the few cars that passed by, and Dean was growing absolutely, positively antsy.  He crossed his legs and started tapping his foot on the dashboard in a sporadic rhythm before Roman reached out and placed a firm hand on his calf to pause the bothersome knocking.  At the touch, a bolt of hot-white electricity coursed through the Samoan’s veins, zapping the man down to the core, and he quickly retracted his appendage, staring wide-eyed at the slightly twitching fingers.  _What the fuck was that?_   He chanced a quick glance over at his friend, quickly noticing the crimson flush beginning to creep up Dean’s pale neck.  His heart thudded in his chest, and he returned his stare to the creeping yellow line running down the center of the highway, cat-eye reflectors glinting in the sun.

“So,” Dean started, trying to break through the awkward cloud of tension, “thanks for taking me.  I’d have driven myself, but like I said, Britt has that appointment with her gyno and all.  Don’t need a baby in the house, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Roman murmured, inwardly cringing at the thought of a cold, metal speculum entering an area on his own body that he’d rather not even think about, “’sides, you’re expecting a call, right?  Don’t want you to miss it.  ‘specially if it’s, uh, Sami.”

Dean bit at his bottom lip, pulling the chapped skin away in an agonizingly slow stretch.  “Oh yeah.  Sami,” he confirmed, guilt eating at the back of his mind.  Seth’s cryptic message whirled through his head, spinning and spinning like a top.  _It’s his journey… he don’t need us fucking it up.  His journey… **his**._   “Fuck!” Dean cursed, kicking at the dashboard with his boot.

“Hey hey hey!  This shit ain’t cheap,” Roman scolded, turning to quickly glare at his friend before returning his eyes to the stretch of open highway before them.  “You know,” he started, gathering his meager scraps of courage into a small brush pile, “if you’re so worked up about him, then why are you wanting to go back anyways?”

The eccentric man narrowed his eyes, icy blues boring straight through Roman’s skull.  “You don’t know what you’re trying to get into, man.”

Roman huffed an aggravated laugh and smacked his hand off the steering wheel.  “No, I don’t think _you_ know what you’re getting into.  Isn’t that the bastard who got you thrown in jail when he pinned his circus of a drug ring on you?  And with your current, well, employment… don’t you even think it could be a _bad idea_ to go back to him with your tail between your legs?”

Dean’s eyes widened in shock, and his throat constricted as if a bruising noose was tightly tied around it.  “Who _the fuck_ told you about that?” he sneered, the fine dusting of hair on the back of his neck bristling in hostility.

“Wh-hat?” Roman stuttered, an uneasy feeling creeping up the back of his spine.

“Who told you about my situation with Sami, Ro?”

 _Wait, how would I even know about that?_ The larger man was caught off-guard.  He scrambled for purchase at anything that could help rectify the random spew of word-vomit, mind whirling and spinning like a merry-go-round until he blurted out the only name he could even think of: “Seth.”

“Seth,” the other man repeated, the word dripping off his tongue like acid, “Really.”  His stony expression hid the rage bubbling up within him, coating his insides in a red-hot veneer.  “I’ll handle this.”

As if they were beneath the sizzling haze of a heated magnifying glass in the scorching summer sun, the meager twigs of Roman’s audacity ignited, the flames licking at his conscience like a schoolyard taunt.  He shook his weary head and took a ragged breath, chest pounding under the vice-like grip of panic.  _How **would**_ _I know about that?  It was just a dream… wasn’t it?_   Roman mindlessly flipped the right blinker on, and they coasted into the bustling parking lot of the plaza, the cellular outlet’s sign in the distance.  He glanced up at the dash to view the time, surprised that their half-hour drive didn’t take them that long at all, before tentatively peering over at Dean; the other man’s expression hadn’t changed, the same statue-like features set in marble. 

The truck rumbled to a stop as Roman maneuvered the vehicle into a cramped parking space, and he pulled his keys from the ignition, staring forlornly at his lap.

“Hey, uh, how about we split up?” Dean questioned, voice grating like barbwire, “I mean, you know how long it takes me to shop, and since you’ve got shit to do... two birds one stone, y’know?”

“Y-yeah,” the raven coughed, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door.  He stepped out into the chilly air, loafers crunching on the dried leaves and leftover slush.  “Uh, you wanna meet back here in like an hour, then?”

“Sure.”

The doors slammed shut, and the auburn stood awkwardly beside the F150, waiting for his friend to finally make his leave.  Roman chanced another cautious glance over at Dean before he turned away, heading down the sidewalk and into a small clothing store.  Dean heaved a sigh as he watched the man’s retreating back ( _Damn, those jeans do wonders_ ) before he slipped the “broken” phone out of his pocket and flipped the screen open, eyes instantly landing on Seth’s previous response with a livid growl.  He highlighted the man’s name and pressed the call button, pulling the device up to his ear as the ringer crackled.

“Sup?”

“You fucking told him about Sami?!”

There was a brief pause on the other end before the two-toned man finally answered.  “What the fuck are you talking about?  I’ve said shit to Ro about that asswipe.  Figured it was your story to tell when you felt like it.”

“Oh, that’s real fucking funny, pretty boy, ‘cause you’re the only other person who knows about what happened between us.”  He was met with a sharp laugh that heinously barked through the receiver, grating on his very last nerve.  “If I could reach through this goddamn phone, I’d strangle the smirk off your fucking face you piece of-“

“Now, hold up, sport.  I’m not lying to you, okay?” Seth started, trying to calm his friend down, “I promise I haven’t mentioned one word about Sami to him.  ‘sides, I _told_ you not to go that route anyway, but oh no, Dean Ambrose knows what he’s doing.”

“Then _what the fuck_ am I supposed to do?  It’s not like Ro’s in a hurry or anything.  I’m just trying to urge him on.”

“Okay, but no.  I’m surprised you haven’t majorly fucked anything up yet, and hell, I give you major props for that, but if you want Ro to wake up anytime soon, you need to let him make that decision himself.”

Dean pushed his hair back off his forehead and let out an exasperated huff.  “I don’t think he’s ever gonna be ready,” he mumbled, scuffing the toe of his boot against the gritty asphalt.

“Well, babe, you’re just gonna have to give him some time.  You can hint around all you want, but this whole Sami thing you came up with is seriously pushing it.  You’re on your own with that one.  Maybe if you would’ve had just a little more patience-“

“I didn’t fuck up, okay?” the auburn snapped, dangerously close to just pressing the “end call” button and finish the infuriating conversation.  “I’m perfectly in control of this whole situation.  I just needed something to spur him on because heaven knows he ain’t got the damn confidence.  Hell, maybe the fates are the fuck ups?  Maybe _I_ wasn’tmeant to find his ass, but we’re here now.  And if he ever wants to get out of here, then he’s just gonna have to grow a pair and-” 

A muffled knocking echoed through the receiver, and Dean’s ears perked up as the man on the other end of the line went deathly silent.  “Seth?  …Seth?  What’s going on?”

Back in Wellsboro, in the shoddy apartment above the Piper’s Pit, Seth’s heart was practically beating out of his chest.  He stood by the window, breath caught in his throat as one sweaty hand held the metallic blind down just far enough to peer through.  A familiar, scruffy man clad in black leather and crimson tartan stood on the small deck outside, roughly rapping against the weather-beaten door. 

His pupils blew wide, comets cosmically dancing in front of his vision as the world passed around him at a funeral pace. 

The boisterous ticking of the second hand on his wristwatch. 

The metallic _thunk_ of drops of water laggardly dripping into the sink basin from the leaky faucet in the kitchen. 

The dull, heavy scrape of knuckles against the walnut frame.

“Colby!”

“Dean,” he finally rasped, rapidly blinking out of the esoteric daze and fingers scrabbling for purchase at the phone as it slipped from his sweaty grip, “I- I don’t know what the fuck you did… but Roddy’s here.”

* * *

 

The man stood before the barricade, arms outstretched and head held high as he stared into the ocean’s sparkling depths.  His mind was absolutely clear, void of any and all emotion or thought.  The stars twinkled upon the surface of the rolling waves, gravity seeming to deliver the celestial bodies directly to his feet.  He smiled brightly, eyes shining with unshed tears, and _oh_ , how he wished to be draped in the garb of the heavens, the swirling cloak of shimmering constellations soothing his weary soul.  _Is this genuine, pure bliss?_  

It’s only a jump away.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

 


	9. Returns

_“I don’t know what the fuck you did… but Roddy’s here.”_

The statement hit Dean like a ton of bricks, and he reeled back, almost dropping his phone in the process.  He shook his head, trying to bat away the daze, and brought the device back up to his ear just as Seth was beginning to ramble.  He caught bits and pieces of the frantic man’s tirade: _“No, Jesus fuck…. just no.  Can’t believe this.  Was doing so well.  Start over.”_   Seth paused mid-rant and inhaled deeply, the quick intake of air grating through the crackly receiver.

“I’m officially retracting my previous statement.  You done fucked up.  Majorly.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off as his comrade started muttering again.

“I gotta go see what’s up.  Gonna hide the phone and put it on speaker, though, so don’t hang up, okay?”

“Okay,” the auburn confirmed, the syllables coarsely scratching against his throat like sandpaper.

The _clunk_ of the device being set down and Seth’s sneakers squeaking across the hardwood floor echoed through the receiver, giving Dean his cue to sit his ass down and listen carefully to what was about to take place.  _I’m such a fucking idiot.  I shoulda realized that this whole ‘Sami thing’ was a mistake.  Goddamn it!_   The creak of a door opening brought Dean out of his thoughts, and his ears perked up, paying keen attention to the coming event on the other end of the line.

* * *

 

“Hey!  Uh, what are you doing back in town?”  Seth greeted his friend as he ushered the older man inside.

Roddy took a few hesitant steps before he stopped, head hung low.  He turned to face his employee, and Seth was taken aback by the man’s appearance.  There was an anguished, languishing expression in his once bright and mischievously sparkling eyes, and purpled rings hung heavily beneath the orbs in apparent exhaustion.  The familiar, eccentric energy was long gone, having been replaced by the sweet stench of sorrow, and Seth’s heart all but cracked as he yearned to reach out and soothe the troubles away.

“Roddy.  Wh-what happened man?”

The older man sighed deeply, bringing a hand up to push the floppy brown tresses back off of his forehead.  “I lost it all, Seth,” he murmured.  “Had a house, a new pub… life was great.  Invested in some shitty stock at some asshole’s insistence and lost it all.  Bank foreclosed on my home and the business.  Only thing I have left is that Durango and a duffel bag full of clothes.”  The man took a deep breath, seeming to center himself before continuing on.  “Figured I’d come back and start over if I could.”

Seth was absolutely livid.  _How could he fuck up this bad?!  I can’t believe this.  Roddy’s back, and now we’re gonna have to start from square one!_   “S-sure man.  Whatever you need to do.  I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for what happened, but I know everyone’s been dying to see ya again… under better circumstances, but still.”

Roddy nodded and slowly pulled the carabiner out of his jacket pocket, picking through the set of keys until he found the one he wanted.  “We should probably go down and go through the books.  Get caught up on what’s been going on the past couple years.”

“Yeah, sure,” the bartender agreed before remembering that Dean was still waiting on the other end of the hidden phone.  He slowly led the man outside, hoping that he would follow his silent prodding.  “You go on down and start.  I got something to do real quick.”  To his overwhelming gratefulness, Roddy complied, clomping down the stairs and making a sharp left to enter the empty tavern.  Seth let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and darted back inside of the apartment to find the device.  “You still there?”

On the other end of the line, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed.  “Yeah, man.  I heard everything.  So, he lost it all?  How _the fuck_ does that even happen?”

Seth huffed out an angry sigh of his own.  “You fucking know damn right how that happened.  It was your drug-dealing and Sami bullshit.  Jesus Christ, I knew it was a bad idea in the first place!” he exclaimed as he began to pace around the cramped living room.  “You _know_ that Roman has to be in control here.  Anything… _anything_ that compromises his path without his consent just sends him back!  Thus, Roddy.”

There was a brief pause on the other end as Dean mulled over his friend’s irritated response.  “Okay, I get it.  I messed up.  But where do we go from here?”

“We just start over.  Square one.”  Another sigh.  “Two years, Dean.  _Two fucking years._   And we lost it all because you’re too damn impatient!”

The thundering _crack!_ of Seth’s fist connecting with the wall resounded through the receiver, and Dean winced.  “Seth… Colby.  I’m sorry-“

“I told you to not call me that here, _Jon_.”

“I’m sorry-“

“Stop fucking apologizing!”  Seth paused again, trying to cool himself down as the thought of their unclear future whirled through his frazzled brain.  _What do we do now?  How do we get him back on track?_   “Okay, no.  _I’m_ sorry.  I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but seriously, man?  We need to fix this.  Now.”

“… Where do we start?”

“I guess we get Roddy back in control of the bar.  He already went down to start going through the books.  I have to get off here, though.  He’s probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

Dean nodded.  “Okay, yeah.  Sounds good.  Wait, though-” he started before Seth could hang up, “I do have one question.”

“What’s that?”

“If you didn’t tell Roman about what happened between us and Sami… then how would he even know about it?”

The one word hit the other man like a ton of bricks, and his mangled heart caught in his throat.  “I don’t know,” he choked out, “but I’m guessing there’s something deeper going on here that even _I_ don’t know about.  … Are you with him now?”

The auburn glanced up just in time to see Roman emerge from the boutique and start his way, the other man’s face contorted in confusion as he noticed Dean sitting on the curb.  “Yeah?”

“After you guys part ways, you need to go back and look into this.  This is _way_ more advanced than anything I’ve learned.  I-I don’t even know where to begin, but it’s like he’s starting to gain our memories or something.”

Dean ducked his head down and brought the phone closer to his mouth.  “Okay, I can do that.  You really think so, though?”

“Yeah, I really do,” Seth gritted out, staring down at his throbbing hand.  “This is the longest we’ve ever done this before.  The other times were a breeze, in and out, but with us being here so long, we’re pretty much bound to stumble across something we’ve never even imagined.  And I have a feeling that the longer we’re here… the less of a chance _we_ have of getting out, let alone _Joe_.”

* * *

 

The man on the pier sighed wistfully as the waves rolled in, the stars landing at his feet in a gleaming heap of hope.  Summer solstice memories flooded back to him, and he closed his eyes against the glistening tears, yearning to relive the days of past.

Golden afternoons on the boardwalk, his mother at his side as they strolled through the quaint shops, knick-knacks, trinkets, and charms sparkling colorful splashes in the glowing sunlight.  Toes squishing in the sand as they padded along the shoreline, the lively woman pausing to kneel down in the soft earth, an affectionate expression in her eyes as she scooped up a dying starfish and gently placed it back into the clear, shallow tide.

_“All of Mother Gaia’s children deserve to be treated with love and compassion.”_

The neatly pruned roses in his mother’s flower beds, band-aids lovingly wrapped around his fingers as the thorns pricked crimson against his tender flesh.  Sparks igniting against the inky sky as the flames licked higher, the jovial conversation between relatives as they relaxed around the fire pit.

The injury that left him broken, the shards of his career slipping through his hands like fine grains of sand.  The diagnosis of returned cancer that left him absolutely shattered, his once strong and animated mother on her deathbed, fragile and despondent in suffering.  A large, warm hand clasping her cool, clammy palm in comfort, the briny tears flowing freely from his own lifeless orbs.

_“When you want to see me again, just look to the stars.”_

* * *

 

The _click_ of Seth ending their conversation and the crunch of Roman’s loafers through the dried leaves brought Dean out of his information-overloaded trance.  He glanced up at the larger man with a soft smile playing at his lips.

“You get what you needed?” he questioned, pushing himself up off of the curb.

Roman cocked his head to the side, seeming to ponder the question before he shook his head, the wavy tresses cascading down his back in an ebony waterfall.  And _oh_ , how Dean longed to reach out and card his hands through the silky curls, pull the man into his embrace and let him know that he just… _knew_.  “Yeah.  Seemed to have picked up a hell of a headache as well, though.”

The scruffy auburn reached over and plucked the keys from the man’s belt loop, fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second as they skimmed over the worn denim at his hip.  Roman sucked in a shaky breath, and Dean smirked inwardly, pleased at the man’s reaction.  _Don’t push him._   “Since you aren’t feeling too hot, mind if I drive?”  Roman merely nodded in reply, and they clambered into the truck.  The engine rumbled to life, and they peeled out of the parking and back out onto the deserted highway, kicking up dust in their wake.

Dean settled back into the driver’s seat, absolutely loving the cushy leather cradling his tired bones, and glanced over at his weary friend.  Roman had his temple pressed against the cool glass of the window, eyes clenched tightly against the jackhammer pounding at the back of his skull and one hand rubbing tender circles into his kneecap.  The eccentric frowned slightly and pressed his foot down harder on the accelerator, willing to reach their destination faster.  _“The longer we’re here, the less of a chance **we** have of getting out.”_  

In all honesty, he truly wouldn’t have minded.  As long as Roman was by his side.

 


	10. Killing Me Softly

_“Okay, hear me out first, but how would you feel about a… group project of sorts?”_

_Jon quirked a brow and took a tentative sip of his latte, Colby’s question rolling through his sleep-fogged brain like the azure waves passing around them.  “I promise nothing.”_

_Sunday morning found the pair in calm companionship, nestled in at their usual table outside of Lava Java on the boardwalk.  The sky was painted in splashes of pinks and yellows as the sun made its steady ascension over the sparkling ocean, the cerulean depths gently lapping at the golden shore in a soothing spray of sea foam.  A few “early birds” dotted the sandy expanse, staking their coastal claim for the day, and a small smile crinkled at the corners of Jon’s eyes as a petite blonde’s sunhat was swept from atop her curls by the swift, balmy breeze.  Colby lightly smacked the back of the scruffy man’s head as he unabashedly ogled the busty babe._

_“Okay, okay, sorry,” Jon apologized, holding a hand up in defense.  “So, what kinda project are we talking about here?”_

_Colby took a moment to collect his scattered thoughts before beginning.  “Say for instance, I knew someone who needed help, but the only way to lend a hand would be… **highly unethical**.”_

_“Unethical?  That’s right down my alley, pretty boy,” the auburn smirked over the rim of his coffee cup.  “What are we talking here?  Killing a guy?  ‘Cause I have a couple associates who wouldn’t mind the cash.”_

_“Nah, nah.  Nothing like that, man,” the two-toned chuckled with a shake of his head before taking a sip of his own steaming cappuccino.  “Actually, come to think of it… it’s probably worse.  Fuck, I don’t even know why the thought even occurred to me.  So, uh, we should probably just forget about it…”_

_Jon furrowed his bushy brows and leaned across the table, successfully inserting himself into his friend’s personal bubble.  “Worse than murder?  Now **this** I’ve gotta hear.”_

_“Nah, man.  It’s nothing important, honestly.”_

_The auburn stuck his bottom lip out in an oh-so-adorable pout, and Colby swore internally, damning the man to hell and back for knowing **just how** to penetrate his once-indestructible armor._

_“Okay, fuck.  So, you know my patient, right?” Colby started slowly, gaze drifting from his pal’s icy blues to the swirling mocha in his own cup._

_“Which one?” Jon questioned, deep lines of concentration crossing his forehead.  “That old woman with the broken hip and the mustache or the one with the sprained ankle and twenty cats?”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“Yeah, seriously!”_

_“Ugh, neither of ‘em, asswipe.”_

_The scruffy man leaned back and downed the rest of his latte with a gulp, racking his brain for any idea of who Colby could be so infatuated with. **Couldn’t be Mr. Adams with the herniated disks or Mrs. Stephens with the fractured tibia.  What about Antonio with the bruised coccyx or Melba with the arthritic pinky?  Nah, too straight and too old.  Erica with the torn ACL or Habib with the crutches?**_

_Colby groaned and scrubbed a hand over his tired face as he watched his friend’s expression contort in determined pondering.  “Alright, shit.  It’s Joe.”_

_“Oh!  Oh…” Jon sighed, mentally smacking himself for letting **that one** slip from his mind.  “The, uh, the one in the coma, right?”_

_The two-toned nodded solemnly, a peculiar flash of raw emotion in his chocolate orbs._

_Jon pursed his lips together, eyebrows furrowing in empathy as he tried to gauge his friend’s sudden shift in mood.  “So, uh, how **is** Sleeping Beauty?” he questioned slowly, fingers itching for some kind of distraction against his frantically racing thoughts.  One of his hands found its way to his chest, and he started tapping the digits against his collarbone in an anxious, yet oddly comforting rhythm._

_“He’s uh, he’s as good as a person could be in that position,” Colby coughed, his eyes nervously darting between his half-empty coffee cup and the other man’s twitching fingers.  His throat felt as dry as the desert, and each syllable that passed from his lips grated like sandpaper.  “Dr. Adler said there was a strange spike in his cerebral activity the other day.”_

_The scruffy man paused in his tapping, seeming to soak in the last statement as a wave of uncertainty washed over him.  “Huh.”_

_“Yeah… so, I was thinking,”_

_“That’s usually pretty dangerous.”_

_“Fuck off.  So, as I said, I was thinking,”_

_“Why would he have a sudden spike in brain activity if he’s been practically dead to the world for the past six months?”_

_Colby nodded sharply, one finger tracing the edge of his own cup in a smooth, circular pattern.  “Exactly.  Unless there’s something there that no one knows about.”_

_Jon rested his elbows atop the table and leaned forward, speaking in hushed tones.  “So, what are **we** supposed to do about it?”_

_The younger man sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself for the word-vomit to follow.  “I read an in-depth article the other night that detailed this German psychologist’s theory.  Augustus Grünewald, I think his name was.”  He paused briefly to let his cohort’s annoying grunts of laughter die down.  “ **Anyway** ,” Colby continued, shooting a dark glare toward the other man, “this article’s from like 2007, so it’s a fairly recent study, but, I mean, not just made up out of the blue.  He believes this actually dates all the way back to ancient China.”_

_“Uh, okay, and?”_

_“Ugh, let me finish, asshole.  This shit’s interesting.  So, anyway, he theorizes that when a person enters a comatose state, they’re transported to a higher plane.  One in which everything is their own creation.  He calls it the ‘mindscape.’”_

_“So, they’re trapped inside their own heads?”_

_“Pretty much, if you wanna put it that way.  Okay, so you know how some people come out of a coma and are like an entirely different person than they were before entering?  Like, a huge asswipe such as yourself could come out of a coma with a newfound perspective on life.”_

_Jon rolled his icy orbs at the man’s jab but let him continue._

_“So, what Grünewald is saying is that this change occurs because the patient must fulfill certain needs that they lack outside of their mindscape.  Thus, once the need is fulfilled, they wake up in a more peaceful, self-assured state.”_

_“Okay, that sounds plausible, but what if they’re already walking on cloud nine before they’re hit by a bus and thrown into coma-dreamland?”_

_Colby pinched the bridge of his nose with a huff, entirely regretting starting the conversation in the first place.  “Grünewald stated that this doesn’t necessarily apply to people whose needs have already been fulfilled outside of the mindscape.  Most of his research subjects were patients who had suffered from extreme clinical depression, typically brought on by a series of instances of mentally taxing dilemmas.  Like a life-altering injury, the loss of a home, the ending of a career,”_

_“Or the loss of a mother,” Jon finished on whisper, letting the realization settle over them._

_“Exactly.”_

_The auburn leaned back in his seat and ran an unsteady hand through his unruly curls.  “So, you think Joe is trapped in his mindscape.”_

_“I do,” the younger man affirmed with a sharp nod._

_“Okay, so like I asked before, what are **we** supposed to do about it?”  _

_“Grünewald believes that any person who is skilled enough in astral projection can enter the mindscape.  Sorta like to help the patient in their journey, but, uh-“_

_“We’ve only ever projected into the first astral plane, and that’s difficult as it is,” Jon interrupted with a snort.  “Do you even know where to start?  Like, how would it even be possible?”_

_Colby worried his bottom lip between his teeth, still regretting even bringing the subject up.  “The article actually went into that a bit.  Grünewald is considered one of the world’s premiere experts on the subject… even if most of his studies are considered absurd.  But he does state that if one is to learn to project themselves into the mindscape, then they must first be able to enter the so-called ‘dreamscape.’  He finds that the mindscape bares hardly any difference from our dreams.  In the mindscape, one can be whoever they wish.  I could be a millionaire living in the Hollywood hills instead of being a lousy physical therapist, and hey, even **you** could be an astronaut instead of a two-bit street magician.”_

_“Hey, you just so happen to be my partner in that!”_

_“But I also have a **real** job.”_

_“I feel like I should take offense to that.”_

_“Yeah, you probably should,” Colby snarked.  “But, like I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted, there’s a hitch.  Grünewald states that to enter the dreamscape- as well as the mindscape- one must have a deep connection with their target.”_

_The auburn cocked his head to the side, staring inquisitively at his confidant.  “Okay, and **that** is where your logic is flawed.  I mean, shit, you have that relationship with him just by being his PT, but me?  Hell, the only way I know the guy is from what you’ve told me.  Which is, obviously, a blatant breach of caregiver-patient confidentiality, genius.”_

_Colby frowned and ran a hand through his wavy locks, an uneasy feeling settling itself in the pit of his stomach. **Well, shit.** The pair sat in contemplative silence, the waves crashing on the shore a dull buzz behind them, and the two-toned groaned aloud, scrubbing at his weary eyes with the palms of his hands.  “You’re right.  I really didn’t think this through.  Just kinda let the excitement get the best of m-” He was interrupted by the scrape of chair legs against wood, and he lowered his hands, blinking the fuzzy silhouette of his pal into view._

_Jon rose to his feet and surveyed the area, stopping with a grin as he eyed the buxom beauty from before.  He snatched the bug-eyed sunglasses from their perch atop Colby’s head and slid them over his own orbs, successfully shielding his lecherous gaze from view.  “Well, you let me know when you wanna get started,” he began, sauntering off toward the wooden steps leading down to the beach._

_“Wait, y-you’re still gonna help me?” the younger man questioned, quickly grabbing his wallet and throwing a crumpled ten down on the table as he scrambled to catch up._

_The auburn about-faced, not stopping in his stride, and shrugged.  “Babe, it sounds like this guy means way more to you than you let on.  And hey, bros before hos, right?”_

_Colby quirked a brow, his brain automatically spinning a loop as it reached for any inclination as to why the man wouldn’t mind lending a hand.  It took a moment, but his thoughts finally caught up to him.  One name on the tip of his tongue.  One short-stacked Super Saiyan with a rose in one hand and a dagger concealed in the other.  A thorn in his side and the crusher of fantastical dreams. **Sami**. _

* * *

 

“Sorry about that,” Seth forcibly chuckled as he poked his head around the door of the bar’s makeshift office.  “Had a pot of tea on the stove.  Didn’t want to set the apartment on fire… or something.”  _Wow, smooth as always, Rollins._

Roddy waved a hand at the man in dismissal, not once looking up as his eyes rapidly scanned over the most recent profit logs.  The rings of fatigue hanging below his once-sparkling orbs seemed darker in the dim lamplight, casting a sullen glare on the man’s stress-weathered features.  After a few moments’ silence, the Scott placed the binder back on his desk and glanced up at his employee with a small, sad smile.  “Seems like you’ve been keeping a tight ship here, Seth, my boy.”

The bartender cracked a grin of his own and perched himself on the corner of Roddy’s desk, kicking at the scuffed floor with the toes of his sneakers.  “Hey, I’ve gotta make sure this place lives up to its name,” he started, gesturing to the brick walls around them, “’sides, with you back in town, we’re gonna be better than ever, right?  I was thinking about live entertainment or something on the weekends.  There’s a couple local bands in the area that are pretty good and could use the exposure, plus the place could definitely do with something other than that shitty country our customers insist on.  Jesus, man, I had a guy get up in my face one night when I changed the station!  Fucking jerk-off trying to act like a tough guy.  Was pretty funny when I started replacing the vodka in his Salty Dogs with good o’ H2O, though.”

When the other man made no attempt to respond, not even with a snort of laughter, Seth glanced over, guilt eating away at his conscience like napalm. 

Roddy looked absolutely, utterly _defeated_.

* * *

 

_“How’d you wanna do this?  Would it be better on my back?  I mean, this is my first time, so I’m pretty nervous.”_

_“Fuck, I don’t know, man.  I guess just any way that’s comfortable.  This is my first time too, remember?”_

_“Fine.  Do I at least get a little foreplay?  Leave me wanting more,” Jon grinned over his shoulder as he stopped to press his backside flush against the two-toned’s groin._

_With a roll of his eyes, Colby pushed the man toward his bedroom, just wanting to get their little “project” started already.  He didn’t have much time to spare, especially when it came to heroically unethical rescuings.  “C’mon, horn dog.  I’ll get you some warm milk.”_

_“Oh, baby.  Gimme all that cre- shit!” the auburn trailed off as he face-planted into a mound of pillows.  He spluttered against the cottony cushions before twisting his body around to lie on his side, hip cocked and eyebrow raised in a (failing) “come hither.”  “Oooh, Mr. Lopez likes it rough, does he?”_

_Colby groaned and backed out of the room, middle finger raised in his retreat from the man’s antics.  The linoleum was cool beneath his bare feet as he padded into the kitchen, and he silently hoped that Jon would be out like a light before he’d made his return.  He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge and a mug from the sink and set to fixing up his ultimate cure-all for those pesky sleepless nights.  A splash of cow juice, a dash of cinnamon, and a minute’s nuke in the microwave later, the small cookery smelled absolutely heavenly.  A small whine from below alerted him to another presence, and he glanced down with a smile as his tiny terrier, Kevin, stared up with preciously pleading eyes.  He bent down to scoop up the tiny pup and held him to his chest, pressing a chaste kiss to the wiry fur atop his head._

_“Is this idea as stupid as I think it is?” he questioned aloud as he turned to grab the steaming mug from the microwave with his unoccupied hand.  He took a small sip of the beverage and hummed, closing his eyes in ecstasy as warmth began to fill his body.  Pictures of Joe clouded his mind in a rush of mixed-emotion, from their first therapy session after the surgery to their unexpected final meeting where the large, Samoan man had practically radiated despair.  He slowly cracked open his orbs and glanced through the large window opposite the counter, breath stolen as the night sky twinkled with thousands of dancing constellations, as if the universe was on display for only himself.  A wide, open unknown that he wished to explore.  To experience the stillness of space, to pass through time as a whisper, to taste the stars on his tongue._

_“I guess it’s worth a shot.”_

 


	11. Roddy

Seth felt completely torn.  On one hand, he was absolutely livid.  Roman’s progression had excelled greatly, what with Roddy’s good fortune and departure, but on the flip-side, in some sort of twisted glee, he felt… _pleased_.  With the Scott’s downfall and return, the ordeal ultimately gifted him with more time to flesh out a proper plan to spur Roman on (one that was _much_ more thought-out than Dean’s harebrained scheme).  Resigning himself to the dissatisfying fact that his personal pain-in-the-ass was just looking out for the Samoan’s best intentions (albeit in a completely asinine manner), he shook his head and hopped to his feet, rounding the desk with a newfound spring in his step.  “Okay,” he started, placing his hands on Roddy’s shoulders in a comforting grip, “first thing’s first, you need a hot meal and a long nap.”

Roddy glanced up at him through a fringe of chestnut, gray orbs as somber and lifeless as his sickly pallor.  “That sounds great and all, but I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Seth’s heart twisted, remorse flowing through his veins.  _How could Dean have fucked up so badly?_ He gently pressed his thumbs into the tense muscle beneath his palms, hoping to relieve some of the tension plaguing his friend.  “You can crash at the apartment,” he offered after a beat.

The Scott shook his head with a deep sigh.  “Can’t put that burden on you, Seth.  I’ve already asked so much of ya, what with running the pub while I chased a hopeless dream.  I-I couldn’t, no, I _won’t_ intrude on your personal life like that again.”

“No, really, man.  It’s no problem at all-“

“No, Seth,” Roddy firmly stated, an air of finality to his words.  “I’ll just crash in the car.  Not like I haven’t had to before.”  The man brushed off his friend’s touch and rose to his feet, an exhausted wobble in his step as he made to leave the office.

Seth really wasn’t sure what spurred on his reaction, be it the fact that Roddy was one of the near and dear figures in his fucked-up journey through the mindscape or the current unnerving disdain he had toward a one “lunatic fringe,” but before he could even blink, the words were tumbling from his lips at lightning speed.  “You can stay at my friend’s place.  H-he has this huge house over on Brier.  It’s only him and this other chick, but he has a couple spare bedrooms and wouldn’t mind the company.”

Roddy paused in his stride, seeming to play the offer over in his head.  “No, I couldn’t do that, lad,” he replied after a moment, continuing on his path out of the pub.  “I ain’t one for charity.”  He paused once at the bar, taking a mental note of their inventory with a satisfied nod, before heading toward the front door, the Piper family crest a glaring beacon in the near-distance.

“No, really!” Seth exclaimed, grasping the man’s wrist to halt him in his retreat.  “If you wanna consider it as charity, then fine, but I think it’s safe to say that he owes me a pretty big favor anyway.”

Roddy glanced back at the bartender over his shoulder, a slight gleam of something akin to hope beginning to twinkle in his bloodshot orbs.  “Only if you’re sure, lad.”

“Oh yeah,” the mischievous bartender confirmed, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a sly grin, “I’m _very_ sure.”

The pickup was a flash of ivory against the Winter-barren landscape as the duo made their way back into Wellsboro.  Dean tapped his fingers in an anxious rhythm against the steering wheel, the skin of his bottom lip rubbed raw under the consistent worrying off his teeth.  The auburn chanced a glance toward the passenger seat, heaving a sigh of relief as he confirmed that Roman was, indeed, still fast asleep.  A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, a flurry of “what ifs” and “why the fuck did I do that that one times.”  If Seth was right about the theory of Roman somehow gaining their memories, then things were definitely starting to take a turn for the worse.  The man negotiated the truck around a few potholes that littered the cracked concrete, silently damning the shitty state and their even shittier highway conditions, before pausing a beat and rolling his eyes at the fact that he was actually condemning an imaginary group in an even more imaginary situation.

“This is fucked up,” he whispered aloud, the words a bizarre epiphany floating through the pickup’s cabin.  “What did I get myself into?”

A familiar vibration in his pocket brought the man out of his tangled thoughts, and he deftly retrieved the battered phone, glancing down at the tiny screen to see Seth’s name brightly flashing in alert.  He flipped the device open and jammed his thumb on the answer button, bringing it up to his ear just in time to pick up the beginnings of his friend’s newest exasperated tirade.

“Fucking pick up, you goddamn asswipe—”

“Hello to you, too, sweetheart,” Dean smirked.

“Fucking finally!  Are you and Ro on your way back yet?”

The auburn rolled his eyes and navigated around another crater-sized pothole, glancing over at his passenger to silently thank the heavens that the man was still dozing.  “Don’t get your damn thong in a knot.  Yeah, we’re like five minutes outside of town.”

Seth heaved a sigh of relief, the _whoosh_ of air grating through the receiver and straight into Dean’s eardrum.  “Thank God.  Okay, so _slight_ change of plans…”

Dean knew that tone of voice _all too well._   “What did you get us into now, _Colby_?”

The two-toned let out a mocking gasp on the other end of the line, dramatically clutching at his chest.  “ _Me_?  I’d like to think that _you_ are the one who got us into this, _Jon_ ,” he sneered.  “Anyway, you must be pretty lonely in that big ol’ house with just you and your prostitute-”

“Escort.”

“Whatever.  So, out of the kindness of my heart, I’ve taken it upon myself to offer Roddy a place to stay until he gets back on his feet.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, and he roughly yanked the steering wheel to the right.  The hulking truck nearly careened off the narrow road and into a ditch before he corrected himself with a few choice, muttered expletives.  “You uh, you what?”

“You heard me.  Since the only reason Roddy’s back is because of _your_ impatience, I think it’s only obvious that you should let him stay at your place.  Scratch that.  He _will_ stay at your place.”

“What?  I don’t even know the guy, Seth!” Dean whined, smacking his hand off the steering wheel with a huff.  “What about your place?  It’s technically his anyway!”

On the other end of the line, Seth shivered and bounced on the balls of his feet, regretting not wearing anything other than the lightweight cardigan he’d grabbed during his mad rush out the door.  “I tried, but he’s pretty adamant about not wanting to ‘intrude on my personal space’ or whatever.  So, besides Roman who we _really_ _don’t_ need him living with, the only other person I know with enough space is you.  ‘Sides, we’re already here,” he explained, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the mottled wooden floor of Dean’s porch.  “So hurry up already.  I’m fucking freezing.”

The auburn snapped his phone shut with a heavy groan and tossed it in the cup-holder, cringing at the noisy impact.  He glanced over at Roman, pupils blowing out in panic as his once-dozing friend was now _very much_ awake and inquisitively staring at him with tired eyes.  “Uh, h-hey,” Dean stuttered in greeting, reaching up to card a shaky hand through his unruly curls.  “S-sleep well?”

The Samoan furrowed his brows, eyes drifting toward the supposedly “busted” mobile.  “Thought your phone was broken,” he stated.

“Uh yeah, uh the guy at the store was able to fix it.  Said there was something wrong with the battery.  Y’know how that is.”

Roman hmm’d in response, skeptical of his friend’s reply.  “Who was that?”

“Seth,” Dean bluntly replied, thanking the heavens that the outskirts of Wellsboro were coming into view.  “He’s stopping by to drop off something I left at the bar the other night.”

“I’m not sure if dignity is returnable,” Ro smirked, letting the inadvertently eavesdropped conversation fall to the back of his mind.  _That’s for another time._

Dean let out a nervous chuckle, his vice-like grip on the steering wheel loosening.  “Whatever, man.  Like you’re one to talk.”

Roman’s brows raised in surprise at his friend’s reply, and he grinned brightly, reaching over to playfully punch the other man’s arm.  “I’m just the innocent bystander in those situations.”

“Whatever you say, Romeo,” the “lunatic” chided, childishly sticking his tongue out.

A flood of warmth filled Roman’s heart at the nickname, and his hand slid up to gently graze against the column of Dean’s neck, sparks dancing beneath his fingertips.  He glanced to where his hand made contact, reveling in the mesmerizing reaction.  What was this strange feeling?  Like his skin was made of pure electricity.  Like every touch against the auburn’s bare flesh brought a wave of breathtaking adoration, his heart beating in devotion.  Did this happen with Seth?  He tried to recall the times he’d made contact with the two-toned pup, from bleaching his hair or scratching his chin to easy embraces and friendly kisses pressed against foreheads.  Sure, all of those interactions filled his chest with contentment, but there was just something so intangibly fulfilling about Dean’s presence, as if the missing puzzle piece of his soul had finally clicked, completing the most beautiful picture.  Pure and simple, it was love.  And oh, how he wished to drown in those sapphire pools, to ride against the current as his lungs filled with the man’s very essence. 

To breathe as one, to feel as one, to exist as one.

* * *

 

_“So, you never really told me why you’re so keen on helping Joe,” Jon started, biting at the edge of his ragged thumbnail._

_Colby, who had finally made his way back to the bedroom (after making sure Kevin’s food bowl was filled to the terrier’s satisfaction), sighed wistfully and offered up the half-empty mug.  “I really don’t know, to be honest,” he replied, perching himself on the edge of the bed as he reveled in Jon’s obvious enjoyment of the concoction._

_“Oh shit, this is good,” the scruffy man praised as he sipped at the warm beverage.  “What do you call this again?”_

_“Cinnamilk.”_

_The auburn nodded absentmindedly, taking a mental note to add milk and cinnamon to the week’s grocery list.  “Well, there has to be a reason, don’t you think?”_

_Colby frowned, picking at a small patch of pilled fabric on the comforter.  “I think it’s cause… I might’ve been the only person he felt comfortable talking to.”_

_“Whaddya mean?”_

_“Toward the end of our sessions, he started talking more about his personal life.  Like, not just about the injury but what happened because of it.  Like, how he had to give up his career-”_

_“Football player, right?” Jon interrupted over the rim of the mug._

_Colby nodded in reply.  “Yeah.  That really tore him up, y’know?  Like, he dreamed his entire life that he’d achieve that, and a bad tackle and an even worse landing flushed twenty years of hard work down the shitter.  Really messed with him.  Then, to top it all off, the one person he needed more than anyone else in the world… well, you know what happened.”_

_The auburn drummed his fingers against the ceramic vessel and polished off the so-called “cinnamilk” with a final gulp.  He carefully sat the mug on the nightstand and leaned back against the pillows, lacing his fingers together over his stomach.  “So, what are you hoping to get out of all of this?  Fulfilling your desire of helping the helpless?  Or are you just attracted to needy people?  Like your friend back in Iowa with the eating disorder ‘cause her daddy died?”_

_“Excuse me?” Colby questioned, taken-aback by his pal’s surprisingly blunt questions.  Fists clenched at his sides and lip curling into a snarl, he continued. “Mia has absolutely nothing to do with this.  Why would you even bring her up?  Besides, everyone has a different reaction to stress.  Like, for instance, you’re a fucking drunken pill addict.”_

_Jon grinned condescendingly, something akin to malice flashing in his azure orbs.  “Blame my upbringing for that one, Dr. Phil.  Besides, if I really wanted to just fucking end it all, I’d do something a little bigger than jumping off the pier.  Guy thinks he’s a loser? **He couldn’t even die**.”_

_Colby jumped to his feet, ready to strangle the smug smirk off of the auburn’s face.  What the fuck was Jon getting at?  His blood boiled red-hot in his veins, an angry, crimson flush cascading over him like the waves on the shore.  “Get the fuck out.”  When the other man made no sudden movements, he reached down and tugged at the collar of Jon’s worn-out tee.  “I said,” he repeated, spit furiously flying from his lips, “get the fuck out.”_

_Jon cocked his head to the side, reaching up to firmly grasp the man’s wrists.  “I’m just speaking the truth, Colbs.”  The two-toned turned his cheek, gritting his teeth in a futile attempt at calming his sudden rage.  “This is exactly like when Sami came back.”_

_Colby cringed and loosened his fierce grip, letting the stretched-out collar fall back against the man’s chest.  “Don’t fucking say that name around me again, Jon,” he started with a sad shake of his head, “You remember how long it took for us to start speaking again.”_

_“We were both at fault,” the other man shrugged as he sat up.  “I was a dumb kid whose judgement was clouded by delusions of grandeur, and you, well, you should’ve minded your own business.”_

_“You’re my best friend.  How did you expect me to **not** get involved?”_

_“Because it was my choice to make.  To continue on with school or to go back to Cinci.  In the end, I didn’t go either way, but it was **my** decision.”_

_“So, you don’t think I should do this, then,” the man stated, defeated._

_“I don’t really know what I’m saying,” Jon replied, reaching up to slightly tilt his friend’s head to meet his gaze.  “I guess I just want you to make your own decision.  Are you doing this to fulfill your need of gratification, or are you doing this because you genuinely care about this guy?”_

_“I’m not in love with him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”_

_“Never said you were,” the auburn grinned, cheeks dimpling in the most adorable fashion.  “Call me selfish, but I just, ah, I just want you to be happy.  And the first step to that is knowing what you want.  So, whatever you wanna do… just make sure that in the end, it was **your** decision.”_

* * *

 

The ocean was unforgiving.

On impact, the man’s first thought was cold.  Bitter, unrelenting cold.  The frigid abyss stole the breath from his lungs, his chest growing tight as he instinctively fought against the ruthless current.

_But wasn’t it death that you wanted?  To be surrounded by the cosmos, to be cloaked in the armor of the heavens?  To feel as one with Mother Gaia as she cradles your broken form to her bosom?_

The bitter taste of the stars upon his lips, he gave in to the desire, letting himself fall pliant against the ocean’s unrelenting pressure.  Becoming one with the heavens, he sank, drowning within the velvet tide as the ghost of tears pricked against his blurred vision.

_Is this death?_

He had never felt so alone.

Breathe in.

 


	12. Bedtime Story

_“Just go the fuck to sleep, man.”_

_A well-timed middle finger sprang up from under the comforter, followed shortly by an unruly mop of auburn as Jon emerged from his cocoon.  “Ugh, I caaaaan’t,” he whined, flopping back against the mattress with a bounce.  “Tell me a story?”_

_Colby rolled his eyes and dog-eared the page of his magazine before setting it aside, careful not to knock over the mug Jon had sat on the nightstand earlier.  He pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose and let out a nasally sigh, completely unamused at his pal’s incompliance.  “What are you, five?  Besides, that milk should’ve knocked you right out.”_

_“But it didn’t, so tell me a story,” came the other man’s muffled reply from beneath the pillow he’d since thrown over his face._

_“I don’t know any.  Sorry ‘bout your luck,” Colby shrugged, mouth pursed in an impatient frown.  “Isn’t there anything else that’ll help you fall asleep?”_

_“Well,” Jon started, tossing the pillow to the side and revealing a completely lecherous grin that caused the other man’s stomach to twist uncomfortably.  “A couple rounds in the sheets never caused no harm.  And if you’re **really** into it, I’ll be out like a light.”  He beamed up at his friend, grinning ear to ear, but upon noticing the other’s unamused expression, his own smile fell.  “So, that’s a no, then?”_

_The two-toned muttered something unintelligible under his breath and carded a hand through his wavy locks.  “Okay, fine.”  Jon’s bright grin returned.  “The story, that is.”  It contorted into an “I’ll take it” quirk.  “So,” he continued, exasperated, “once upon a time, there were three bears.”_

_“Ugh, not that one.”_

_“Pigs?”_

_“Nah.”_

_Colby gritted his teeth, growing increasingly frustrated by the man’s antics.  “Fine, elephants.  And they lived with a little boy named, uh, Dean.”_

_“Dean?  Like James Dean?”_

_“Sure, fine.”_

_A look of confusion crossed Jon’s face, and he stuck his tongue out to trace his bottom lip in concentration.  “The elephants lived in the house?  Kid must’ve been like Richie Rich or something.  Elephants.  As if-”_

_“They were elephant **dolls** ,” Colby hissed through his teeth, “and every night when Dean went to bed, he’d take the three elephants with him because they made him feel so safe and secure.”_

_“Elephant dolls?  What the fuck, man.  Seems kinda sissy for a guy.”_

_“Says the man who likes it up the ass.”_

_“Pot calling the kettle.”_

_“But I never denied that, did I?  Ugh, whatever, you fuckwit.  So, **anyway** , they always went to bed with him until one night, they got so sick and tired of Dean annoying them that they went off to sleep someplace else.  And two big ol’ escaped convicts snuck in through the window and MURDERED DEAN IN HIS SLEEP.”_

_The auburn scrunched his brows together, drumming his fingers against his stubbly chin in a sporadic rhythm as he pondered his friend’s strange story.  “Wait,” he said after a moment, the realization dawning on him, “you got that from an episode of ‘The Golden Girls,’ you titmouse!”_

_Colby shook his head with a chuckle, holding his hands up in surrender.  “Okay, okay.  You got me.  ‘Sides, you’re the one who got me into that show anyway.”_

_“It’s a fantastic series full of love, friendship, and Estelle Getty being a smart ass.  What more could you want?”_

_“Well,” the two-toned started, retrieving the medical journal he’d previously been scanning, “I’d really like for you to go to sleep.”  He flipped the magazine open and began skimming over a rather dry article on angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitors, enjoying the relative silence as Jon had presumably given up and taken another shot at catching a ride on the “sleepy-time express.”  Midway through the article (after stopping once or twice to Google “Perindopril” and “OPTIMIZE-HF” on his phone), the peaceful reticence had started to become unsettling. **Is he asleep yet?  Am I actually ready to enter the dreamscape?  What if his shields are too high, and I can’t get in?  What the fuck is a chi-square test?**_

_“Not anymore, how the fuck am I supposed to know, just knock twice, and it’s a statistical method assessing the goodness of fit between observed values and those expected theoretically.”_

_Colby furrowed his brows in frustration and dropped the magazine onto the bedspread as he blew a stray lock of platinum out of his eyes.  “I was thinking out loud again, wasn’t I?  Also, how the **fuck** would you know that?”_

_The other man rolled over to face his friend, a cheeky grin dimpling his utterly pinch-able cheeks.  “Actually paid attention in Statistics that week,” he quipped, reaching over to pluck the discarded periodical off the bed and toss it over the side where it crashed in a cacophony of crinkled pages.  “And to think, I was finally starting to doze off.”_

_With a heavy sigh, Colby turned his back on his friend, yanking the nightstand’s drawer open and haphazardly rummaging through the odds and ends it contained until finally finding his last resort._

_“So, this is totally where the ‘fuck-buddies’ part of our relationship can come into play,” the auburn rambled, waving his hands for emphasis.  “Doesn’t have to be more’n sex, right?  Not like we haven’t done it before.  I mean, those nights were spent heavily under the influence of one-to-many vodka shooters, but nonetheless-“  A tube of something smacked him in the face, closely followed by an unmistakable square of foil, and the man halted in his babbling, eyes wide and the hint of a blush creeping on his cheeks.  “Wait, really?”_

_Colby just groaned and flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched and hair an eccentric halo framing his exhausted face.  “Just hurry up already.”_

* * *

 

As the F-150 rumbled to a stop at the curb outside of Dean’s house, Roman quirked a brow at his friend upon noticing Seth sitting on the creaky stairs leading up to the porch.  A strange man sat beside him, his boot tapping a steady rhythm against the chipped wood as they awaited Dean’s arrival.  “Thought you said ‘something,’ not ‘someone?’” the Samoan questioned, bewildered.  “Who is that?”

Dean raised his hands in defeat, figuring it best to tell the truth for once.  “You remember that guy who owns the bar Seth runs?”

“Yeah, Roddy, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.  That’s him.”

Ro made a quiet sound of comprehension and unbuckled his seat-belt before hopping down from the cab, a jovial spring in his otherwise laggard step.  “Might as well go introduce myself.”

The eccentric man furrowed his brows and glanced up at the porch, noticing the unease on Seth’s face as Roman quickly approached the pair.  “Oh fuck,” he whispered, the feeling of imminent doom stabbing at him like a knife.  “This can’t be good.”  In a flurry of hands moving _way_ too fast to keep up with his spinning brain, he wound up in a tangle of seat belt, a yelp of alarm choked from his throat as the stubborn strap painfully dug into the tender flesh.  “Ro, stop,” he croaked, “fuck your truck!”  Trapped in the suddenly suffocating cabin of Roman’s truck, he could only watch on in horror as the larger man bounded up the stairs, a handsome smile gracing his chiseled features.  “Don’t touch him, don’t touch him, don’t touch him,” he pleaded aloud, eyes growing wider as Roddy stood, hand outstretched in offering of a firm shake.

Whether it was the moon’s arrival in the seventh house or Jupiter’s alignment with Mars, luck was definitely on Dean’s side as Seth stood quickly, placing himself as a makeshift barrier between the two men.  “Ah, Ro-Ro!” the two-toned grinned, latching himself onto the Samoan like a leech.  “I missed you, babe!”

Ro let out a huff of laughter, reaching up to run his fingers through the man’s freshly platinum locks.  He pulled back to admire the tresses, a spark of joy in his steely orbs as he noticed the complete lack of garish orange.  “I see you were able to get my handiwork touched up?”

Seth grinned, playfully punching the taller man’s arm.  “Yeah, AJ fixed me up pretty well.  Although she was a little miffed that I didn’t go to her in the first place.  But hey, a six dollar box of L’oréal and a Samoan hunk are a good bit cheaper than a thirty dollar trip to the salon.  ‘Sides, I got food out of it last time, so it’s a win-win.”

“That’s all I am to you?” Roman asked, clutching at his chest in mock offense, “A crappy hairdresser who buys you lunch?”  He turned to Roddy, shaking his head.  “Y’see what he’s really like?”

Roddy chuckled, eyes crinkling with the first real smile he’d shown in a long while.  “Ah, he’s a good lad.  A bit dense at times, but he’s cute, ain’t he?”

The tell-tale clomping of boots on the steps alerted the trio to Dean’s final arrival, and they all turned to glance at the man, matching looks of confusion plastered across their faces as the auburn rubbed at his chafed neck.  He narrowed his eyes and gave Roman the coldest look he could muster.  “Your truck,” he rasped, gasping for breath, “tried to kill me.”

* * *

 

_“Oh, fuck,” Colby whined, head thrown back into the pillows as he writhed in ecstasy._

_Jon leaned over him, sapphire orbs glassy with lust and perspiration beading at his temple as he ground his hips against the other man’s backside.  Gasps and pants escaped his bitten lips, and he groaned on an especially hard thrust, dropping down to suck purpling bruises to the tanned column of Colby’s neck.  “Fuck… so good, baby,” he panted, hot breath ghosting sweetly as he tongued over the marred flesh.  “Fucking perfect.  Gorgeous.  So fucking tight.”_

_The two-toned let out a raspy moan, lips failing to form the words on the tip of his tongue as the blunt head of Jon’s cock oh-so-deliciously rubbed against his prostate on every thrust. **Why are we even doing this?  Why am I such a pushover?  Why is thi- aw fuck yeah, right there.**_

_The auburn suddenly pulled back, sliding his hands beneath Colby’s lower-back and lifting him up into his lap as he sat back onto his haunches.  On instinct, the other man wrapped his trembling legs tighter around Jon’s waist, groaning low in his throat as the change in position forced that absolutely wonderful member impossibly deeper inside of him._

_“Oh my God,” the younger man mewled, falling into Jon’s chest as his thrusts became quicker and rougher, the lewd sound of skin-on-skin echoing throughout the small bedroom.  “G-gonna cum, Jon.  Oh my God, I’m gonna-“_

_Jon was unrelenting, hips pistoning in and out as the impending sweet release began to coil in his stomach, the apex of passion just out of reach.  His lover’s breathy moans were driving him mad, a flurry of “Harder… oh God yeah… so close” causing the most pleasant warmth to crawl up his spine.  When was the last time he had a partner who received the same amount of pleasure?  One who meant more to him than a cheap, tawdry fuck in the bathroom at one of the city’s local strip joints?  Someone who could match him move-for-move in the sheets but was an intelligent equal on the streets? **Oh God** , he thought, the awareness of the entire situation back-handing him in the face, **has this been in front of me the entire time?**   In a swift movement, he tossed his pliant partner back down onto the mattress, the unmistakable yelp of panic and dull thud of Colby’s head smacking off the nightstand an echo in the back of his mind as he scrambled toward the end of the bed in escape.  _

_Pupils blown in fear, he stared down at his shaking hands, grainy memories flashing through his mind like the home movies his friend had (boringly) forced him to watch that time he’d tagged along on a family visit back to Iowa.  Their initial meeting on campus outside of the Baroco Center, Colby’s bookbag thumping against his back as he raced toward his Biology midterm, the shriek as a carefully placed boot sent him sprawling across the lawn.  Their afternoons spent at Lisa’s Deli in amused conversation, half-eaten Reubens going untouched as they snorted in laughter, the younger man’s eyes growing as wide as saucers as Jon retold stories of his rather strange past in Cincinnati.  The night of their pre-planned study session when Colby was greeted at Jon’s front door by a peculiar looking short-stack with impressively messy jet-black hair and a gleam of something akin to malice in his beady eyes.  The auburn could only stare on in horror as his former lover shoved the two-toned man, vile insults spraying from his lips as Colby’s once-happy-go-lucky attitude quickly morphed into one of contempt. **“Colbs, please,”** he’d pleaded, hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.  But Sami had held him back in a possessive grip, a parting shot thrown over his shoulder as the younger man retreated with his proverbial tail between his legs._

_“Oh my God, Colbs.  W-we’ve gotta talk about this,” he started slowly, eyes finally fixating themselves on the prone form at the top of the bed.  When the image finally clicked, he panicked, blood running cold.  “Oh fuck!  I killed him…”  The man quickly crawled toward his partner, heart on the verge of escaping his chest as it thudded in horror.  “Colbs… Colby.”  He gingerly rolled the other man over, cringing at the purplish goose-egg that was quickly forming on his temple.  “Colby,” he whined pitifully, gingerly running the pad of a finger over the bruised flesh.  “C’mon, babe.  I-I’ve never killed anyone before.  What the fuck am I gonna do?  I-I guess I could turn myself in.  Or run… yeah, running sounds good.  B-but then you’d just haunt my ass forever.  Are you a ghost yet, anyway?  Can you fucking hear me?  Oh my God, I’m talking to a dead guy.”  He mulled over his predicament, fingers anxiously tapping at his collarbone in some sort of calming habit that he’d picked up over the years.  What was he going to do?  Would he actually run, or would he do every good citizen’s good deed and turn himself in?  “I’m gonna be locked in the pen this time… and my cellmate ain’t gonna be as well-read as Bubba.  We-we’re talking Stinky Pete and Fat Tony this time, man.  I’m gonna get my ass branded like I’m on OZ or something… and shit, I don’t even own a suit to wear to court.  The judge is gonna have me strung up by my nuts like a fucking piñata.”_

_A slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught the alarmed auburn’s attention, and he heaved a heavy sigh of relief as the steady rise and fall of Colby’s chest erased all involuntary manslaughter charges from his boggled brain.  “Oh, Colbs,” he said, caressing the man’s bearded chin with the back of his hand, “thank God.”  Be it the relaxation of the other man’s deep, sleep-filled breaths or the lulling tick-tock of the clock on the wall, Jon found himself completely at ease, one with the Earth, a spiritual beacon flooding with the light of a new day.  He cautiously glanced down at his hand, a dizzying vision as the appendage seemed to slip inside of the other man, like a specter would through a wall of brick.  “Woah,” he whispered, comets cosmically dancing in his pupils as the world came to a stand-still around him._

_In a ludicrous moment of interest, he withdrew his hand before pushing his way through the side of the two-toned’s head, a chuckle of legitimate astonishment springing forth from his lips as the arm disappeared up to the elbow.  “Oh my God… I did it?”  A hasty tug on the phantom limb spooked the man, and he tried to pull back… but it wouldn’t budge.  “Oh, great,” the man muttered, completely exasperated, “now Colby’s gonna wake up with my fucking arm stuck in his head!”  He used his other hand to yank on his bicep, but a surprisingly secure force pulled him forward.  In a rare moment of defeat, the man closed his eyes in terror and gritted his teeth, letting the persistent pull suck him down and into the awaiting abyss of Colby’s mind._


	13. Psychotropics

_The first thing that Jon realized was that the landing after a fall, even in a dream, could be quite painful.  The odd feeling of cool linoleum beneath his cheek spurred the man on to crack open his eyes, and he cautiously took in his surroundings with a loud gulp.  “C… Colbs?” he stuttered, pushing himself up into a sitting position with a wince.  His eyes rapidly scanned the area, drinking in the various pieces of medical equipment packed into the small room.  A bed took up most of the space, its occupant akin to a science experiment hooked up to beeping machines that displayed his vitals in flashes of red and green.  A large window sat opposite, its blinds tied back to reveal a beautiful, ebony sky dotted with twinkling constellations, a reminder of evenings spent on the shore watching the tide pull the celestial bodies to his feet.  Skin prickling from the drafty air, he glanced down at his lap and back up quickly, realizing that he was **indeed** still quite nude.  “Colby?  Colby!  This isn’t fucking funny, you shithead.  Where are you?”_

_As if on cue, the door leading into the room opened, and Colby strode in, white lab coat billowing behind him majestically.  With one look at the bare-assed man on the floor, he shook his head and quietly shut the door with a discrete click of the lock.  “I know I shouldn’t ask, but, uh, **why** are you naked?”_

_With a huff of contempt, Jon gingerly rose to his feet, limp cock bobbing against his thigh.  When the other man scowled and shielded his eyes, he rolled his own.  “I seriously just fucked you with this thing not even like ten minutes ago, so cut it out with the blushing virgin shit, okay?”_

_“You what?”_

_“Nevermind.  Just give me your lab coat or something.”_

_The younger man groaned and shrugged off the starched jacket, handing it over to his friend with a grimace.  “Don’t rub your nuts on it, asshole.”_

_“Oh, har-har,” Jon mocked, pulling the shield over his naked form.  He noticed the embroidered “Dr. Lopez” on the left breast of the jacket and tucked that tidbit of information into the back of his mind for later.  “So, I’m here… now, how do I get out?”_

_“Wait, what?” Colby questioned, glancing up from the clipboard he’d grabbed while his friend was making himself “decent.”  “What do you mean?  How’d they even let you past security with your bare ass hanging out anyway?”_

_With a look of absolute antipathy, he carded a hand through his unkempt curls with a deep sigh, completely over the entire situation.  “Here.  In your dreamscape or whatever.  So again, how the fuck do I get out of here?”_

_Colby grinned brightly and pumped a fist in the air in triumph.  “You got in?  Fucking a right!” he exclaimed, slotting the clipboard back into its holder on the footboard of the bed.  “So, like, did it hurt?  How did you know that you could?  What kind of meditation did it take to prepare yourself?”_

_The auburn smiled weakly and rubbed the back of his neck, dreading the inevitable reaction as he retold the events leading up to his current location.  “Well, uh, like I said… we were doing it, and I… kinda freaked out and maybe accidentally threwyouintothenightstand?”_

_“Come again?”_

_“I got freaked out, okay?  And like, I really didn’t mean to, especially ‘cause it was so fucking awesome, y’know?  Like, toes curling and stars behind eyelids romantic movie shit.  But, like, I just started thinking… what if after all these years, **we** were supposed to end up together?  Wh… what the fuck man?  Stop laughing!”_

_“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” the two-toned doctor gasped, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, “but seriously?  We were drunk, right?  ‘Cause babe… no… you’re my best friend!”_

_“Oh fuck you,” Jon snapped, his feet slapping against the linoleum as he plodded toward the exit.  “Fuck you and your stupid lab coat, you prick!  …I’m keeping it though.”_

_Colby reached out and grasped the man’s arm, effectively halting him in his retreat.  “I’m sorry, I-I really am.  But Jon, you of all people should know that what’s between us, well, isn’t romantic in the slightest,” he explained, gesturing between them.  “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but after all the times we’ve messed around, you’ve only just **now** considered us as potentially being more than friends?”_

_The auburn frowned and averted his gaze to stare down at the patterned tile, his reflection echoing back at him from the glossy surface.  “Maybe I’m just not meant to find anyone,” he mumbled._

_“Hey now,” the other man reassured him with a comforting pat, “I’m a firm believer that everyone has a soulmate.”_

_“Okay, and mine was apparently hit by a bus ‘cause I ain’t met ‘em yet.”_

_Colby sighed and gently led the man toward the overstuffed armchair sitting beside the bed, glancing over at the various cables and wires attaching the patient to his life-support system.  Jon plopped himself down with a sigh, rubbing at the scruff of his chin with his knuckles in frustration._

_“Have I ever told you about the red string of fate?” the doctor asked over his shoulder as he rounded the bed to start checking vitals._

_“The red what of what?”_

_“The red string of fate.  It’s an ancient legend from East Asia.”  When Jon returned an expression of utter confusion, he continued.  “The story goes that a young boy was walking home one night and was startled by an old man leaning up against a fence beneath the moonlight.  It happened to be that the old man was standing next to a giant bag and flipping through a book.”_

_“So, being a total creep.  That’s normal.  Probably had a dismembered body in that bag or something.”_

_“Oh, shut up.  So, anyway, the boy asked the man about the book, and the man simply replied that it was ‘the book of marriages’ and that he ‘need only use one of the red strings in his bag to tie two people together and they will become destined to be married.’  The boy, as any kid would, didn’t believe the farfetched story in the slightest, so the old man took him into the village and pointed out the young girl who was destined to be his bride.  The boy quickly became angered because he didn’t want to get married, so he picked up a rock and threw it at the girl before running away as fast as he could.”_

_“Wow, what a pussy thing to do.”_

_“Fuck off, smart ass. **Anyway** , many years later, when he was fully matured, the boy’s parents had arranged a marriage for him.  On the night of the wedding, the boy, well, now man nervously lifted the veil covering his soon-to-be wife’s face.  He was ecstatic to discover that she was one of the most beautiful women in the village, but he also noticed that she wore an unusual decoration above her eye and asked her what it was out of curiosity.  The woman removed the decoration, revealing a scar.  She explained that when she was very young, someone had thrown a rock at her, and it had left the scar she bore to that day.  So, you see, everyone is destined to find their true love… even if it’s the most unexpected person that they could ever imagine.”_

_When the other man made no attempt to reply, Colby glanced over, brows furrowed in curiosity as he noticed that Jon had cupped the patient’s hand in his own and was gently caressing the tender flesh around the intravenous catheter.  “Jon, what are y-“_

_“Who is this, Colbs?” the auburn questioned on a whisper, something akin to fear in his sapphire orbs.  “Colby… who is this?”_

_“I don’t see what that has to do with anythi-“_

_“Please… who is this?”_

_The younger man’s jaw dropped in shock, the answer on the tip of his tongue as Jon gradually lifted his hand.  A distinct, crimson string stretched between his and the patient’s smallest fingers, joining the pair in a miraculous union._

_“It… it’s Joe.”_

* * *

 

“So, this is the living room, kitchen’s back that way, laundry room’s in the basement, and the bathroom and bedrooms are upstairs,” Dean explained as the group made their way into the house.  Meeko, being the nosy pup that she was, peered out from around the doorway, and upon noticing her master’s final arrival, bounded into him like a 45 pound wrecking ball.  He caught the Husky and lifted her up with surprising strength, her tongue flicking out to lap kisses on the button of his nose.  “I wuv you too,” he cooed, setting the pup down on the floor to wander back into the kitchen.

Roman and Seth, who knew the two-story prairie home like the back of their hands, flopped themselves down onto the threadbare sofa, a tangle of limbs and elbows as they made to get comfortable.  As Dean and Roddy ascended the stairs, their boisterous voices coming to a dull hum, Seth turned to his pal with a smile.

“You guys have fun today?” the younger man asked, propping his feet up in Roman’s lap.

The Samoan leaned back against the mismatched cushions, sighing contentedly as they seemed to mold to his form.  “Hm?  Oh, yeah, I guess.  Just went into Summersville to grab a few things.  Needed a couple more button-downs for work since I’m a… _secretary_ now.”  He seemed to choke on the word as if it left a sour taste in his mouth, and Seth merely shrugged in reply.

“Hell, ain’t nothing wrong with being a secretary.  ‘Sides, it’s better on your knee since you aren’t putting so much strain on it now.  If they aren’t treated and exercised properly, anterior cruciate ligament injuries can be entirely devastating to everyday life, let alone one’s career.  In your case though, you suffered an injury called the ‘unhappy triad’ or as it’s typically called, ‘O’Donagh-”

“O’Donaghue’s triad,” Roman finished, steely eyes as wide as saucers.  “How… how did you know that?”

Seth squeaked, mentally berating himself for his unfortunate spell of word vomit.  “I, uh, I like to read?”  _Smooth._

Roman hmm’d in response, an uneasy feeling scratching at the back of his mind.  Were Dean and Seth lying to him?  First with the phone, then with Roddy, and now with the strange unveiling of information that hardly anyone knew unless they were well-studied in the sports-therapy field.  “So,” he started, guardedly trying to breach the topic, “when did Roddy come back?”

The two-toned plopped his head back onto the arm of the sofa, fixating his gaze on the popcorn textured ceiling.  “Uhm, today, actually.  Ran into some bad business up in Boston, so he decided to come back and start over.  After a good night’s rest, he’s planning on getting back into the swing of things at the Pit.  Can’t say it isn’t good to have him back, but I just wish it was due to better circumstances, y’know?”

“Yeah, I getcha.”

A piercing shriek from upstairs startled the men, and they nervously glanced at one another before leaping from their perch and heading toward the staircase.

“Dean?  Roddy?  Guys!” Seth called, his voice echoing up the stairwell.  Before he could even react, a blur of pink and blonde sped by the pair and into the kitchen, drops of moisture splattering against the worn-down carpet in its retreat.  The bartender turned to Roman, confused.  “Wh-what was that?”

The Samoan shrugged, a matching befuddled expression plastered across his tanned face.  “No clue.”

“Sorry guys,” Dean apologized as he bounded down the stairs and speedily headed into the kitchen, an ivory dressing gown clutched in his hands.  A muffled pair of voices wafted through the house (one much higher-pitched than the other) until finally, Dean emerged, a rather shaken (and freshly showered) Brittany trailing closely behind.

“Y’all done spooked me!” the blonde exclaimed, smacking her hand off the taller man’s chest.  “Givin’ me the heebie jeebies all sneakin’ around up there like some kinda criminal.”  When the young girl finally caught sight of Roman and Seth, she blushed furiously and laid another whap on her roommate’s pec.  “Mr. Ambrose!  I just ran down here in my skivvies!  Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing…”

Roman and Seth held their hands up in a “now, now” gesture, trying to reassure the girl that no harm had been done.  “Hey, it’s okay!” the two-toned comforted, “I’ve seen Roman and Dean in their, uh, skivvies, and I can assure you that it was definitely a welcome change from the norm.”

Brittany scrunched her perky nose up and swept her tangled mane of sandpaper back over her shoulder with a huff.  “Pervert.”

“Pervert?!  You’re a hoo-“

“Don’t say it,” Ro warned, interrupting his pal’s poor choice of words with a large hand over his mouth.  “Miss Brittany, I’d like to apologize on the behalf of Seth and myself for our unwanted peek at your undergarments.  Albeit, we couldn’t make out much more than a blur, I feel it necessary to offer an apology for our wandering eyes.”

The freckled blonde flashed a toothy grin at the Samoan and nodded in thanks.  “See, Mr. Ambrose?” she questioned the auburn, “That’s a gentleman.”  The girl padded across the living room and toward the stairs, Seth and Roman stepping aside to let her through.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna finish getting ready.  Got an appointment this evening with a new client, and I’m out to impress.”  She blew a kiss toward the trio and ascended the creaky stairs, her dressing gown billowing behind her like a bridal train.

“So, where’s Roddy?” Seth questioned, prying Roman’s hand off of his mouth.

Dean shrugged.  “He hit the sack.  Said he was pretty tired, and after that drive in from Boston, I don’t blame him.”  He plopped himself down on the sofa and grabbed the remote for the ancient television set, clicking it on with an electric hum.  “You guys wanna hang out for a bit?  I can order from Chen’s if you want.”

Seth and Roman briefly glanced at one another before answering with a simultaneous shake of their heads.  “Nah man, gonna head back and clean up the bar a bit before tonight’s shift,” Seth replied.  “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Eh, a’ight,” Dean said, not caring to glance up from the _Good Times_ rerun that had preoccupied his attention.  “How ‘bout you, Romeo?  We never did get to watch that movie last night.  ‘Sides, Britt will probably be out late and Roddy’s asleep, so other than banging my head off the wall in boredom, I’m completely free.”

Despite his previous reply, Roman nodded, plodding over to settle himself down beside his pal.  “Sure, man.  Sounds good.”

“Promise not to pass out on me?” the auburn smirked, playfully jabbing the larger man in the ribs.

“Oof!  I’ll try not to,” Ro winked, patting Dean’s knee with a lingering touch.

Feeling somewhat of a third-wheel, Seth said his goodbyes, promising to take the scruffy man up on his offer the next time.  On his way out the door, the two-toned smiled to himself, glancing back to see the crimson string of fate connecting his friends’ fingers in the most heart-warming fashion.


	14. Brittany

As the sun descended beneath the horizon, dragging the fading light of the afternoon along with it, the hustle and bustle of the day came to a peaceful standstill.  Roman and Dean lounged on the sofa, bellies sated and mostly-eaten take-out containers of General Tso and Kung Pao chicken resting in their laps as the ending credits of _Rocky_ rolled on the TV screen.  They chattered back-and-forth nonsensically—from their favorite sports teams to Seth and his never-ending struggle with his blonde patch—but dared not to tread water on the subject of Roddy’s return.  Unknown to the other, both men had mentally decided that it was better to leave that topic for another day.  Or another year.  Or another century.

During a lull in their easy conversation, Dean rose from his nest, turning off the DVD player and twiddling with the TV’s antenna for a few moments before the pixelated fuzz on the screen cleared to a grainy rerun of _All in the Family_.  He padded back over toward his companion and stretched his hand out in a “gimme” motion, and Roman passed his lukewarm carton of chicken over with a nod of thanks.  A gentle creaking on the stairs alerted the Samoan to another presence, and he turned his attention from Edith’s nasally whine and toward the slowly appearing Brittany as her heels clicked across the hardwood.  His eyes widened in surprise as the girl finally came into view—when she said that she was “out to impress,” she’d meant it.

“How do I look?”

Her sandpapery coif fell over her shoulders in a cascade of soft curls, partially obscuring the intricate scoop-laced neckline of the dress she wore that made only to show off the long line of her toned legs.  Her pink lacquered lips were drawn up in a bow, and the smudged kohl around her emerald eyes accentuated the orbs as they sparkled gem-like in the soft lamplight.  The girl, well woman, absolutely _glowed_ (if that was even possible).

“Wow,” Roman gasped, having finally found his voice.

Dean emerged from the kitchen, sapphire orbs saucer-like as he spotted his roommate standing awkwardly on the landing.  “You can say that again.”

The girl blushed rosily and tugged the hem of her skirt further down her thighs.  “Oh, you guys,” she grinned, eyes positively alight with elation.

“So, when’s your, uh, date picking you up?” Dean coughed, wringing his hands together nervously.

“Around 6:30.  I’m kinda worried about this one, though, Mr. Ambrose.  The other gals told me he makes some good money, so I’m kinda hopin’ I can keep ‘im as a regular client.  Heaven knows I need it.”

Dean nodded in understanding and shuffled back to the sofa, plopping himself down with a bounce.  “I already told ya I ain’t worried about the rent,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal.  “It’s kinda nice having someone to share this place with.  Well, uh, now a _couple people_ to share it with, I guess.  And you don’t have to call me Mr. Ambrose either.  Feels like I’m your pimp or something.”

“We don’t have those anymore,” Britt replied with a roll of her jewel-like eyes.  “We’re independent women just trying to make a buck.  Our body, our rules.”  She stepped off the landing and strolled toward the window beside the sofa, peeking through the blinds with a squint.  “Hm, that’s strange.”

Roman cocked his head to the side, confused.  “What is?”

“You drive that big ol’ truck, right?  The white one?”  A nod.  “And I parked Mr. Ambr- Dean’s car out back this afternoon, so whose Cavalier is that?  Never seen the neighbors drive one of those.”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, a wave of dread overcoming him.  The only person he knew who had driven a Cavvie (besides a few other kids in high school) was the one person he didn’t want to see… at all.  _How the fuck would he be here anyway?  I made that shit up!  It’s not possible… is it?_   A gentle rapping on the front door snapped the man out of his muddled thoughts, and he silently panicked as Brittany made to greet the somewhat-unexpected company.  _Please don’t be him, please don’t be him, please don’t be hi-_

“Uhm, hello?” Britt greeted, eyebrow quirked in surprise.  “Are you here to see Mr. Ambrose?”

The man standing on the other side of the door was handsome, to say the least (and not Sami, to Dean’s overwhelming relief).  The suave swoop of reddish hair and amicable, toothy grin caught Dean off-guard, and he scratched absentmindedly at the scruff on his chin.  _This guy looks familiar_.  Apparently Roman had the same reaction, as he leaned forward ever-so-slightly to take a closer glimpse at the newcomer.

“No, uh, actually… I’m here to pick up a Miss Brittany Adams?  You wouldn’t happen to be her, would you?” the stranger questioned in an utterly-adorable Southern twang.

“Oh!” the girl exclaimed, completely dumbstruck.  “I, uh, I usually meet my clients at the sidewalk- shut up!” she hissed, glaring daggers at her roommate over her shoulder as Dean failed to muffle his chuckle.  “Sorry, you’ll have to excuse him.  He can be a right pain sometimes.”

The man peered into the living room, and upon noticing Dean and Roman staring inquisitively, he gave a small, timid wave.  “Uh, hi?  I-is this a bad time?  I can reschedule if it’s better for you…”

“Huh?  Oh, no!  U-unless you want to, of course.”

“Well, ah, it just seems like you have a lot on your plate right now, so to speak,” he explained, sheepishly gesturing toward the two other men.

Brittany furrowed her brows and quickly glanced back at her pals before returning her attention to the charming redhead standing in the doorway.  “Wait… oh my lord, you think these goofs are my clients?”

“Well, I mean…”

The man’s reply was interrupted by a boisterous chuckle as the girl tipped her head back in understanding.  “Oh, oh my lord, you’ll have to excuse me,” she apologized, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.  “But y-you really think I’d sleep with _them_?”  A loud “ahem” came from the other side of the room, and she glanced back again to roll her eyes at the sour expression that twisted Dean’s features.  “Oh, you hush.  It was only once, anyway.”  She leaned forward ever-so-slightly and brought a hand up to her mouth in a not-quite whisper.  “Honestly, it wasn’t even that good.  Man only lasted five minutes and begged me to call him ‘daddy.’  Right freak, there.”

Roman quirked a brow and peered up at his friend with a look of “oh really?” (to which he was met with an icy glare).

“But no, really.  Mr. Ambro- uh, Dean is just my roommate, and that’s his friend Roman.  Dean’s letting me stay here until I get back on my feet.”

The suave stranger nodded, relief sparkling in his orbs.  “That definitely makes me feel better,” he smiled.  “A-are you ready to leave, then?  I left the car running since it’s pretty chilly out this evening.”

“Sure am!” Brittany grinned.  “Y’all try not to have too much fun,” she winked, and with a parting wave toward her friends, the couple set off.

“So… ‘daddy’?” Roman asked after the pair had left.

“Yeah, baby?” Dean replied absentmindedly, once again fiddling with the rabbit ears atop the television.  Gulping and eyes bulging in horror, he soon realized what word-vomit had unfortunately spilled from his lips.  “Uh, n-no!  What the fuck?  She was just, ah, trying to make herself look better,” he backpedaled, the tell-tale crimson flush of embarrassment creeping on his cheeks.  “God, is it hot in here?  Feels really hot in here.  Like a fucking sauna or something.  L-let me go turn the heat down, okay?  Fucking Brittany and her damn desert conditions.  Surprised all that makeup she cakes on doesn’t melt off.”

“Mhmm, sure,” Ro muttered, side-eyeing the man.  He gingerly rose from his perch with a groan, joints popping and crackling under the strain, and padded toward the staircase with a huff of contempt.  “Gonna go take a leak,” he gritted out as his knee throbbed in pain with each step ascended.

Dean nodded distractedly in reply as he set to lower the thermostat, heart beating _way_ too fast for his liking.  The auburn glanced up the stairwell with a wistful sigh.  “Fuck, that was close.”

* * *

 

As the Samoan finally reached the top of the creaky death-trap, he mentally pumped his fists in the air in triumph as “Gonna Fly Now” rolled through his head.  As small a victory as it was to some people, Roman couldn’t help but be pleased that his body had cooperated with him (at least for the time being, anyway).  He bopped down the darkened hallway, being mindful to step over the squeaky floorboards that littered the second story.  A sudden thought of tumbling through the floor and into the kitchen below made the man chuckle darkly, but he shook the blackened fantasy from his mind with a roll of his eyes, instead trying to focus on making it toward the bathroom without stumbling over the worn-down carpet.  The creak of un-oiled door hinges startled him, and he glanced up fearfully, a heavy sigh of relief escaping his lungs as Roddy appeared toward the end of the hallway.

“Aye, lad.  Looks like ya seen a ghost or somethin’,” the Scott grinned mischievously, padding toward the startled Samoan.

A bizarre wave of unnerving dread washed over Roman, and he took a hesitant step backwards.  “Oh, y-yeah, I forgot you were staying here,” he chuckled nervously, rubbing a large hand over the fine bristles of hair standing straight up on the back of his neck.  “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“No worries, m’boy,” Roddy shrugged, each footstep bringing him closer and closer to the absolutely (and bizarrely) petrified raven.  “Couldn’t sleep anyway.  Feelin’ sorta… odd, to say the least.”

“You don’t say…”

“Real nice of your friend to let me stay here, though,” Piper continued, boots clunking over the floorboards.  “Nice big house.  It’d be a shame to not have company once in a while,” he remarked, gesturing toward the suddenly suffocating walls surrounding them.  “Don’t ya think?  Y-you don’t look well, lad.  Is something ailing ya?”

Roman cringed, statue-like legs rooting him to the spot in terror.  His lungs were tight, each breath passing between his tightly-pressed lips like sucking in air through a swizzle stick.  Roddy slowly brought his hand up, gently grazing the back of his palm against the Samoan’s forehead with an inquisitive stare.  Their eyes locked, each man’s breath held in trepidation.  An almost electric-like tingle radiated at the point of contact, and Roman let his eyes fall closed, relishing in the strange sensation.  As if a piece of his shattered soul had clicked into place.  As if he was a step closer to completion.  Unlike but somewhat akin to the spark passed between Dean and himself each time they touched. 

The older man pulled his appendage back and let it drop to his side, a matching look of incredulousness on his stress-wrinkled face.  “Y-you’re a bit clammy, lad.  Best be getting’ home and hop into bed ‘fore the bug bites ya,” he stuttered, brushing past the Samoan and toward the staircase, heavy footfalls echoing in his strangely quick retreat.

Roman glanced behind him, staggered breaths finally evening out into a gentle rhythm.  He gingerly lifted a shaking hand and traced over the tingling mark on his flesh, a thousand jumbled thoughts whirring through his frazzled brain.  For a second, if even just in his own imagination, he could’ve sworn that he’d seen galaxies in Roddy’s eyes.

* * *

 

The ride along the twisting highway seemed to last a lifetime, and Brittany grew increasingly anxious with each bumpy mile.  The conversation between the couple was light-hearted and easy, simple questions like “What kind of movies do you like?” and “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” passing through the warm cabin of the Cavalier.  As the bright lights of Summersville came into view, she smiled and quirked a brow, glancing over at her client.

“Didn’t know ya lived in Summersville, Mr. Slater,” she remarked, reaching up to brush a curly lock of sandpaper out of her eyes.  “You work up here too?”

The redhead flashed her a grin of his own.  “Call me Heath.  And yep, but I’m originally from Lumberport.  ‘Bout two hours away, give or take.  I travel a bit for work, though.  Been all over the east coast surveying different pipelines, but I’m stationed at the one in Wellsboro for now, thankfully.”

“Oh, I ain’t been up there, before.  Haven’t really gone anywhere, to be honest.”

Heath frowned slightly and flipped the turn signal on before coasting into an expansive plaza, the neon lights of different restaurants and shops illuminating the evening sky in a technicolor glow.  “Really now?  Well, we’ll have to change that.”

The girl furrowed her brows and glanced out the window, an uneasy feeling settling itself in the pit of her stomach.  Heath threw the coupe into park and unbuckled his seatbelt, throwing an expectant glance Brittany’s way as she stared on in confusion.  “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he questioned, head cocked to the side.  “You not a fan of Italian?  ‘Cause we could go somewhere else.  I-it’s no problem.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, Britt turned in her seat, a baffled look in her emerald orbs.  “No, I-I like Italian just fine.  It’s just…”

“You weren’t expecting this.”

The blonde frowned and nodded slightly.  “You’re definitely not like the other clients I’ve had.”

Heath quirked a small smile toward the girl, reaching over to place his hand atop one of her own.  “Honestly, I kinda lied.  I’ve seen ya at the gas station a few times and knew that I wanted to get to know ya better.  Found out ya do, well, _this_ on the side and figured it was the only way I wouldn’t come off as desperate.  That… that actually sounds pretty awful, doesn’t it?”

“Well, a bit creepy, to be honest,” Brittany replied with a smirk.  “And truthfully, most of my clients _are_ pretty desperate, b… but really?  Like, you aren’t put off by my, ah, career choice?”

“I mean, it isn’t _my_ first choice, but hey, it’s your body.  Never understood why people looked down on it anyway.  As long as you’re safe, I see no harm.  Well, uh, I mean I wouldn’t really appreciate it when we get to our third date.”

“ _When?_ And this is a date?”

“If… I-I mean if,” he corrected diffidently.  “And, uh, yeah.  If you want it to be?  ‘Cause, I mean, I do.  Wow… I really am a creep.  Let me just take you back and forget all about it-”

“No!” the girl exclaimed, grabbing the man’s wrist in pause.  “I mean… yeah, I think I’d like that.  The date, that is.”

Heath gave her a long look before the corners of his mouth turned up in a bright grin.  “Okay!  I mean, cool.  Yeah… oh man, I sound so desperate right now.”

Brittany shook her head and unbuckled her seatbelt before opening the passenger-side door and sliding out into the chilly night.  “C’mon, then,” she beckoned, “I’m so hungry I could eat the north end of a south-bound polecat.”

Heath nodded and exited the vehicle in a hurry, rounding the rear to meet his date with a hooked arm.  The girl laughed and looped her arm around his, the uneasy that had plagued her belly hatching into brilliant, fluttering butterflies.  As the couple strolled toward the bistro in the distance, the stars twinkled brightly above, constellations dotting the inky expanse in sparkling formations like celestial guardians. 

Miss Brittany “good for nothin’” Adams on a date?

Mama would be so proud.

* * *

 

“You sure you don’t wanna stick around awhile longer?” Dean questioned as Roman shrugged his jacket on and retrieved his keys from the end-table in a peculiar rush.  “There’s four more movies in the series, and I think Britt has some vodka stashed around here somewhere.”

Roman shook his head, not daring to meet his friend’s worried gaze.  “Naw, thanks though.  Gotta get home and do some cleaning.”

“It’s 7 o’clock on a Saturday evening.  I think cleaning can wait until tomorrow.”

The Samoan shook his head again in refusal.  “J-just gotta go.  Not feeling well.  I’ll see ya sometime, okay?”

“ _Sometime_?” Dean asked, utterly confused.  “What the fuck does _sometime_ mean?  Are you okay?  D-did something happen?” He reached out to place a comforting hand on the man’s arm, but Roman flinched away, a flicker of fear in his steely orbs.  “Ro, c’mon.”

“I’ll call you or something.  Promise.”

In a blur, Roman was out the door and hobbling off toward his truck, an unsettling wobble in his step.  A whirlwind of questions spun through Dean’s mind, and he scratched at his stubbly chin in contemplation as he watched the other man’s hasty retreat.  _What in the hell’s gotten into him?_  

“It’s my fault, Dean.”

The auburn’s ears perked up, and he abruptly about-faced, staring inquisitively at the Scott who was half-hiding behind the kitchen’s doorframe.  “What?  What do you mean?”

Roddy frowned, crestfallen.  “I messed up,” he started, slowly padding into the living room.  “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I had a, ah, momentary lapse in reason and touched ‘im.”

 _No.  Fuck no.  Please don’t tell me…_ “Wha- are we quoting Pink Floyd albums now?  I don’t know how that’s messed up, though.  Unless you grabbed his package or something.  Which then is pretty daring considering you just met the guy this afternoon.  ‘Sides, he’s like 30 years younger than you-“

“Dean, please,” Roddy pleaded, a pained expression plastered across his weathered features.  “Just let me speak.”

With a gulp, Ambrose fixated his gaze on the man, stomach in knots.  There was a raw openness to Roddy’s eyes that spooked the auburn.  Something so intangible and imperceptible, as if the entire universe was encompassed within his silvery orbs.  It chilled the man to the bone, his senses enveloped by the cosmic deities existing within.  “O-okay,” he finally stuttered, giving the man leeway to speak.  “I’m listening.”

The Scott scrunched his eyes shut and carded a hand through his silver-streaked locks.  With a heavy sigh of apprehension, he began.  “I know who you are.”


	15. Home

Roddy’s reluctant confession hung over the room in a transparent fog of dread, and Dean reeled back, aghast, trying to distance himself from the other man in a stumble of boots over worn-down carpet.  A thousand fleeting thoughts raced through his mind, a mile a minute, and through his confusion, the man was growing more and more agitated at the situation and his _absolutely wonderful_ “friend” who’d convinced him to come along to the utter threshold of hell.  _Oh, it’ll be easy.  In and out, just like that.  Two fucking years later, and look, Colby!  Things are getting worse!_   He took a moment to regain his composure, pushing his hair back off of his forehead with a heavy sigh, before returning his gaze to the obviously startled Scotsman.  He couldn’t project his anger on Roddy, whether he was real or not.

“Wh-what are you talking about?” Ambrose started, a hitch in his breath, “Of course you know me.  Well, not too much, but yeah, I’m Dean, remember?”

Roddy shook his head with a pained chuckle.  “I’m aware of that, lad.”

The auburn pursed his lips, trying to remain calm as not to lash out at the bumbling pub owner.  “ _Okay_ ,” he slowly drawled out, “then what is it?  Because my best friend just ran out of here like he saw a damn ghost, and I’m _pretty_ curious as to what the hell’s going on right now.”

The pair stood in relative silence as Roddy seemed to contemplate his next step.  Dean’s patience was quickly wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second, and he longed to just reach out, grab the man’s lapels, and shake some _goddamn sense into him_.  Just as the taut cord of Dean’s composure was about to snap, the older man took a shaky breath, closed his silvery orbs, and calmly nodded his head as if he’d finally reached an epiphany.

“It’s strange to become self-aware,” Roddy began on an almost-whisper, padding across the living room and into the kitchen while leaving an even more baffled Dean behind (if that was even possible at the moment). 

The _thud_ of the refrigerator door against the countertop and subsequent clinks and clanks of beer bottles impelled the younger man to cautiously follow. 

“Your perception of the universe becomes so… different,” he continued once Dean had appeared in the doorway.  “It’s akin to birth, if you’d like to think of it that way.  A rebirth.  A clean slate.”  The man popped the cap off of a lager and took a long pull off of the amber liquid, a small smile gracing his lips as he pulled the bottle away.  “Good stuff, right there.”  When the younger man raised an eyebrow, he went on.  “Like a phoenix from the ashes of your past, you rise, a fresh breath entering your lungs as you take your first, wobbly step onto the earth.  You leave the tainted, sullen corpse of your old self behind to spread your wings and let the universe pass all her knowledge into you like a vessel.  The knowledge of that which you could not understand before, but now that your eyes have opened?  You’re truly free.”

If he wasn’t before, then Dean was now truly, utterly perplexed.  His mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish as he tried and failed to find the words to reply to Roddy’s bizarre explanation.  _What the fuck is he even talking about?_   _Is he referring to Roman or…?_

The Scot took another pull off the bottle and wiped the foam from his lips with the back of his hand, gazing off into the distance with eyes glazed over in wonder.

Dean pointedly cleared his throat, hoping to bring the man out of his irritating trance, and Roddy snapped his head toward the other, a twinkle in his gray orbs.

“Ah, sorry, lad.  Drifted off there for a moment.”

Ambrose quirked a brow and shrugged off Roddy’s apology with a wave.  “Uh, no problem.  But as you were saying?”

“Yes, yes, lad.  As I was saying, it’s somewhat of a rebirth to become self-aware.  As if your eyes have opened for the first time, and you’re just now seeing the universe for what it’s worth.  Do you understand?”

“No, I really don’t,” Dean muttered, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance.  “Can you just get to the point already?”

Roddy cocked his head to the side, an expression of confusion plastered across his face.  “The point?”

Dean grit his teeth, the bow string of his patience strung taut and on the verge of finally snapping beneath the strain.  “Yes, the point,” he growled, “the reason why you’re acting so fu-, so _out of it_.  The reason why Roman ran out of here like a bat out of hell!”

“Ah,” the older man nodded, features softening into a knowing smile, “I know that you are… _very_ far away from home.  Both you and Seth, actually.”

The auburn’s eyes widened in surprise, and his stomach dropped like a lead balloon.  _Me and Seth?  How would he even know about that?  Is he just fucking playing me right now?_   He fumbled over his scattered thoughts, trying to decide if he should continue with the ruse or let the cat out of the bag, before Roddy’s soft voice interrupted him.

“When I touched him, I knew,” Piper whispered, “My eyes opened for the first time, Dean, and now I know the truth.  Why I opened the Pit.  Why I left it under Seth’s watch when I moved to Boston.  Why I lost everything.  Wh-why we’re here.”       

Dean gulped, anticipating the inevitable.  It was now or never, and if he wanted to put an end to the entire mess, then now was the opportune moment.  “Why _are_ we here, Roddy?” He questioned gently, one hand reaching up to tap a fidgety rhythm against his collarbone.

The older man slowly closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the silvery streak of a solitary teardrop rolling down his cheek.  He nodded once to himself, a delighted smile gracing his chapped lips, before breathily replying.  “To guide him home.”

* * *

 

Roman didn’t have a clue where he was going, but what he _did_ know was that he couldn’t go home.  He couldn’t go home to spend another dark, lonely night at his apartment, to sit staring blankly at the bare walls until he felt compelled to dig his weary eyes out of their sockets.  No, not with the rows of prescription bottles lining the medicine cabinet, the ivory tablets so sweet on his tongue, dulling his senses and leaving him in a state of blessed euphoria.  His knee ached like a pressed bruise, and he cringed in discomfort.  _Maybe just one pill._  

As if on auto-pilot, he navigated the grimy streets of Wellsboro, the streetlights throwing an eerie shadow against the weathered, brick facades of once-majestic buildings, until the pickup came to a final stop.  The raven glanced up in a daze, the neon “open” sign of the Piper’s Pit casting a reddish glow across his features.  Heart beating hastily in prospect, a single, distinct thought broke through his fogged mind.  _Seth.  I need to find Seth._

The Pit was relatively quiet for a Saturday night, the only patrons being a few, fellow pipeliners relaxing after a hard day’s toiling in the fields and a trio of vixens huddled a couple tables down, the mischievous smiles at the corners of their kohl-rimmed eyes matching the ones plastered across their ruby-lacquered lips.  The miniscule crowd glanced up as Roman made his entrance but quickly returned to their own conversations when he greeted them with a timid smile.  His orbs scanned the room, filtering out the other customers as they finally settled on their target.

Seth slouched behind the counter lazily flipping through a glossy periodical, his eyes glazed over in boredom.  A tumbler of soda was clutched in one hand, and every few pages or so, he’d lift the glass to his lips and take a small sip of the amber liquid.  With each turn of a page, the bartender’s eyelids drooped lower and lower, and Roman chuckled lightly to himself, the man’s composure reminding him of an entirely tuckered out pup after a long day at play. 

At the familiar sound, Seth glanced up from the magazine, a goofy grin turning up at the corners of his mouth.  “Well, look what the cat dragged in.  You get tired of Ambrose already?”

Ro shrugged and hopped up on a barstool, reaching across to snatch the half-downed tumbler out of his friend’s hand and nab himself a quick drink.  As soon as the liquid hit his tongue, he quirked a brow, inwardly grimacing at the sour aftertaste.  “Drinking on the job?” he chided, setting the glass down on the counter and sliding it back across and into the other man’s slightly trembling grip.  “Not very professional of you, pup.”

The two-toned rolled his eyes and knocked back the rest of the glass before topping it off from the worryingly low bottle of Jack.  A few drops of whiskey splashed onto the counter, and the bartender giggled to himself, dabbing at the amber pools with a finger before reaching up to lap at the soiled pad.  “Waste not, want not,” he beamed, showing Roman his now-pristine digit.

The Samoan nodded, an uneasy feeling gnawing in the pit of his stomach.  “So, how much of that have you put away tonight?”

“S’no worry, Ro-Ro,” Seth slurred, a slight wobble in his step as he turned back to grab a Yuengling out of the cooler and pass it over to the older man with a flourish.  “S’not like I can’t do my job or nothin’.  Fuck!  There’s like no one here anyway.”  The drunken pup gestured toward the practically empty seating area, a scowl crossing his forehead in deep lines.  “Fuckin’ place is a sinking ship, so hell if I blame ‘em.  Get out while ya can, ‘s what I say.”

Instead of popping the cap and joining the party, Roman picked at the label of the bottle with his thumbnail, the wet paper sloughing off in tiny balls of inky residue.  He focused on the task while Seth prattled behind the counter, the ice in the other man’s tumbler softly clinking with each movement.  As he worked at the emblazoned eagle, a shadow fell over him, and he looked up and into bloodshot, chocolate orbs.

Seth leaned over the counter, a sly grin plastered across his bearded face.  “You never answered my question, Romie,” the man snickered, a whisper of alcohol-laced breath passing over the other’s face.  “So, didja get tired of Ambrose and his shit yet?”

“No, not really,” Roman replied simply, his own eyes locking with the inebriated pup’s.  “Why do you ask?”

The bartender scowled and pursed his lips, his jaw working in an irritated twitch.  “Surprising, honestly.  Don’t worry, though.  He’ll turn you off sooner or later.”  The man took another gulp of his Jack and slammed the tumbler down on the counter with a _bang_ , causing the few other patrons to turn and stare.  “Oh, fuck off,” he snapped, waving the onlookers away with a pass of his hand.

With a few grumbles of “what the fuck’s wrong with him?” and “get bent, prick,” the two groups gathered their belongings and exited the pub, the Piper crest knocking against the door signaling their hasty departure.

Ro’s face twisted in confusion, and he grabbed the glass from Seth’s shaking grip, holding it up and away from the smashed man.  “I think you’ve had enough of this for the night.”

“What the fuck, Ro?!” the two-toned shrilled, sprawling across the counter and reaching desperately for his liquid bliss.  “C’mon, babe.  I haven’t had too much.  I— _hic—_ promise!  Give it back, man.”

“No way,” the Samoan denied with a shake of his head.  “The only thing you’re gonna do is get to bed, a’ight?  You smell like you fell in a fucking barrel of booze, pup.”

The seductively sly grin reappeared, and Seth reached up to cup his friend’s scruffy cheek, his thumb darting out to daringly caress at the corner of Roman’s firm line of a mouth.  “So, are _you_ gonna take me to bed, then?” he purred, words dripping with wanton lust.

“I’m gonna _dump_ you in your bed,” the raven grumbled, nonplussed.  “Now c’mon, it’s gettin’ late.”  Roman gingerly stood up from his perch, half-dragging his absolutely blitzed friend over the bar and along for the ride.

“ _Romie_ , Seth whined, unabashedly pressing his alcohol-warmed body into Roman’s side.  “You know you want to.”

The Samoan sighed heavily, not in the mood to put up with the slut puppy plastered to him.  “What I _want_ is for you to crawl into bed and sleep this shit off, okay?  So, get those feet moving, and if you’re a good boy, I’ll read you a bedtime story.”

“A bedtime story?  What am I, five?”

“You’re acting like it,” Roman huffed, dragging the other man behind him as he hobbled toward the door. 

Unfortunately, Seth just wasn’t having any of it, and he planted his feet firmly against the floor, desperately clinging to Roman’s arm like a parasite.  “Roman, please?  Just one more drink?  I promise I’ll be good!”

Ro’s silvery eyes turned to slits, and he whipped his head around to stare disapprovingly at his pal.  “There’s a reason why you never drink.  Remember Mardi Gras last year?  This is **_not_** going to be a reenactment.”

Seth furrowed his brows together as the long stashed-away memory trickled back to him in bits and pieces.  _Way_ too many margaritas, a few stolen kisses from a buxom brunette (whose boyfriend was _none too pleased_ ), and a rousing rendition of “Cheeseburger in Paradise” led to stumbling across the cracked asphalt, the especially irked duo of Roman and Dean trailing behind.  With his current career, the man was hardly allotted the time to kick back and unwind with a drink or two, but it was somewhat of an unspoken pact between the trio that Mardi Gras was his.  _Well_ , until he was almost flattened by a semi barreling down the somewhat deserted street.  The last thing he remembered was the bright flash of headlights and a firm grip pulling him back onto the sidewalk, but when he stumbled down to the pub the next morning, the unsettling sight of crushed, beaded necklaces left him with an unpleasant wave of nausea.

The man shook off the grainy memory with a frown, seeming to give up hope of last call, but when the duo finally reached the exit (much to Roman’s insistent prodding), a somewhat-harrowing idea clawed at his psyche.  _Fuckin’ Ambrose.  I’ll teach him…_   In a feat of sudden strength, he’d swiftly whirled the larger man around and pushed him into the door, a slight gasp of discomfort escaping Roman’s lips in surprise.

Ro’s brows practically shot up into his hairline as the younger man pressed himself flush against his muscled frame, a disconcerting craving sparkling in the two-toned’s practically lust-blown orbs.  “Seth, wh-what are you-“

“Tell me you want it, Roman,” Seth whispered, lips trailing _oh-so-gently_ up the tense column of the Samoan’s neck.  “Just tell me you want it, and I’ll gladly give it to you.”

“Seth, I-I…” the raven started, refusal lost on his tongue as the bartender licked a broad stripe over his stubbly skin.  “Oh _shit_ , Seth.”

The younger of the pair naughtily grinned into the side of Roman’s neck and continued his assault, lips and tongue trailing up to lap at the older man’s earlobe.  “I’ll be _so good_ to you, Romie,” he purred, damp breath ghosting over prickled flesh.  “And all you have to do is tell me that you want it.  ‘Cause I know you do.”

If there was a place Roman _had_ expected to be in his lifetime, it most definitely _wasn’t_ wedged between the door of the Pit, the Piper Crest digging uncomfortably into his back, and Seth’s shameless, concupiscent touches.  At the younger man’s lewd proposal, he blushed crimson, shallow breaths escaping his slightly gaped lips in mutual desire.  _What could it hurt?  It isn’t like I’m with Dean or anything_ , he reasoned to himself.  _And he’d never have to find out…_  

“So, what d’ya say, Ro-Ro?” the smaller man purred, unabashedly grinding into one of Roman’s firm thighs.  “Can I be your good boy tonight?”

Having completely forgotten his reason for showing up at the pub in the first place, Ro’s arms rose from his sides to wrap around the other’s sinewy frame, hands reaching downward to grasp at the pert ass with an emphasized squeeze.  When the other man pulled back with a gasp, bottom lip clenched tightly between his pearly whites in thirst, Roman leaned in to nose at his scruffy jaw.  “Oh, baby boy,” he started, words utterly drenched in ardor, “give me your worst.”

* * *

 

Chest tightening beneath the staggering pressure, the man sank deeper into the ocean’s depths.  His thudding heart slowed to a feeble crawl as the waves echoed above him, a somewhat comforting din to a picture-perfect ending.  Curious, he opened his eyes, meeting the celestial bodies surrounding him with a rapturous smile.  The stars twinkled like a thousand diamonds, their breathtaking beauty a guiding light in the darkness.

A beacon of hope.

An unfaltering guardian.

A gift from the heavens.  

He was finally _home_.     

_Breathe in._

 


	16. Connections

_“Okay, so we’ve both successfully entered the dreamscape… with no thanks to you for the fucking goose egg, asswipe-“_

_“Hey, we must make sacrifices for the greater good, and if that means knocking you out in the middle of sex, then so be it.”_

_“Now all there is to do is figure out how to reach the last astral plane_.”

_“Okay, just ignore me.  That’s fine.”_

_“Not ignoring.  Just not bothering to listen.  So **anyway** , we’ve gotta push ourselves a little further to project into the mindscape.  Though, I’m not really sure where we’re gonna find a willing test subject.” _

_“Well, it’s not like we can break into a coma ward or something.  Wait… that’s brilliant!  They’re all pretty much vegetables anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if we just did a little hocus pocus-”_

_“No.  Just… no.  Also, you’re fucking **awful**.”_

_“You weren’t saying that last nigh-”_

_“Just be quiet.”_

_Monday morning on the boardwalk found Jon and Colby at their usual perch outside the Lava Java.  It was somewhat of a busy day as numerous beachgoers traipsed up and down the strip, tote bags and towels in tow in anticipation of another sun-kissed afternoon.  The duo sat in easy companionship, the mute break of waves against the shore and the rhythmic slap of flip-flops against wooden planks acting as white noise behind their methodical thoughts._

_“So, as I was saying-”_

_“No, Jon,” Colby sighed, exasperated, as he rubbed gingerly at the purpled lump of a bruise marring his temple.  “We **aren’t** breaking in to a coma ward.  I don’t even **know** why that thought would cross your twisted mind in the first place!”_

_The auburn rolled his baby blues and took another drag off of his cigarette, exhaling the pungent smoke through flared nostrils.  “Oh, now **I’m** the twisted one?  Did you forget that **you’re** the one who came up with this wonderful scheme in the first place?  Oh, Joe, I must save you from yourself because I’m a miserable, altruistic-”_

_“Tall caramel macchiato?”_

_Jon glanced up with a furrowed brow, irritated at having been cut off mid-sentence yet again.  “ **Thank you** ,” he gritted out through a half-clenched smile, snatching his beverage out of the barista’s manicured grasp._

_The girl flashed her own sarcastic grin before turning to Colby, a real one taking over to brighten the apples of her freckled cheeks in a rosy blush.  “Caffè Latte?”_

_Colby nodded his thanks as she set the steaming mug down on the table with a **clink**.  As she turned to leave, he lifted the vessel to his lips and took a tentative sip, thanking the gods for blessing him with sweet, wonderful caffeine.  A saccharine, southern drawl snapped him out of his coffee-induced daze, and he peered at the source over the rim of his mug, a glint of curiosity in his eyes._

_“I couldn’t help but hear that you two are having a little bit of… trouble,” the waitress started slowly, coyly toying with the hem of her apron.  “Y’know, my boyfriend and I were going through a rough patch ourselves awhile back.  We went to that fortune teller down at the other end of the boardwalk, and he set us straight.  Haven’t had any problems since.”_

_“Okay… and?” the two-toned questioned inquisitively. **What’s she getting at?**_

_“Well, it just sounded like the two of you were havin’ some issues of your own, and I figured it might be worth a shot.  You guys make a cute couple, and I’d hate to see y’all break up when a solution’s available for the takin-”_

_“A what?!” Jon spluttered mid-gulp, littering the table (and Colby, unfortunately) in a spray of lukewarm macchiato._

_The girl reeled back, protecting herself from the scruffy man’s sudden, jolting outburst, and a few passersby halted in their stride, stopping to turn and watch the scene unfold with interested stares._

_Colby placed his mug back on the table with a bemused expression before grabbing a napkin to begin wiping away the effects of his pal’s surprise.  “We’re a **what**?” he calmly questioned the startled waitress, chocolate orbs darting back and forth between the girl and the small crowd congregated just a few feet away._

_“A couple… ain’t ya?  I mean, you two are always here together, and I’ve seen y’all hold hands a time or two-”_

_“In my defense, I was pretty hungover and didn’t feel like stumbling over the side of the boardwalk,” Jon replied nonchalantly, “’sides, two dudes can’t be friends without fucking?”_

_Colby snorted and crumpled up his used napkin, tossing the ball at the auburn with a mental fist pump as it bounced off the other man’s head.  “Don’t lie to the poor girl.  But no,” he started, directing his attention toward the waitress, “we **aren’t** a couple.  Just… friends with benefits.”_

_Having lost interest in the dud of a spectacle, the amassed beachgoers dispersed, leaving the trio alone in their retreat._

_“I’m sorry for butting in,” the waitress sheepishly apologized, “your drinks are on me.”_

_Jon waved her off and took a sip of coffee.  “No problem,” he replied from behind the rim of his mug, “Colby was paying anyway, weren’t you **sweetheart**?”_

_The two-toned man rolled his eyes and pulled out his wallet before handing the timid girl a crisp, twenty dollar bill.  “Keep the change,” he winked._

_“No, I couldn’t!  Not with the trouble I caused.  Momma always told me to think before I open my trap…”_

_“Well, then think of it as thanks for the advice.  I believe you may have given us the solution to our **little problem** , so to speak.”_

_The girl reluctantly accepted the bill with a nod of thanks, but as she made to leave, she hesitated, seeming to weigh the words on her tongue before finally speaking.  “I… I know that Mr. Rotunda is a good man, and he’ll set y’all on the right path.”_

_Jon froze mid-sip, fingers gripping just a bit tighter on the handle of his mug. **Rotunda?  Windham Rotunda?**_

_“I had a customer who used to come in every morning with his mom before she passed away.  He still showed up here a few times after she died, and he’d tell me about his visits with him.  Said that Mr. Rotunda told him that the ‘stars were calling his name’ or something like that.  I-I never really understood what he was saying, but I haven’t seen him in a few months.  Guess he found some hope in his words after all.”_

_Colby furrowed his brow, the girl’s rambling anecdote piquing his interest.  “The stars were calling his name?”_

_“Like I said, I’m really not sure what he meant by it, but the last time he stopped in, it looked like his spirits were a little higher,” the waitress shrugged, a slight frown pulling at the corners of her mouth.  “Had a little ‘pep in his step,’ so to speak.  Haven’t seen him since, but I hope he’s doin’ well for himself.  Joe’s been through a lot in the past year or so, what with his momma passin’ and all…” she trailed off, scrutinizing the two-toned’s calculating stare.  “I-is everything alright?”_

_The man shook his head, batting away the fuzzy daze that had since taken over, and quirked a half-assed smile.  “Oh, n-no.  You’ve been a huge help.  Thanks for the info, erm, what’s your name again?”_

_The girl beamed, toying with a wavy wisp of hair that had escaped her sandpapery bouffant.  “Brittany Adams.  But y’all can just call me ‘Britt.’”_

* * *

 

If Roman had ever imagined being in his current position, he would’ve labeled himself a delusional, horny bastard.  But there he was, perched on the arm of Seth’s worn-out sofa, breathy puffs of bliss escaping his “O” of a mouth as the two-toned’s head bobbed enthusiastically between his trembling thighs.  He carded his hands through the other’s mixed locks and lightly scratched his blunt nails over the man’s scalp, invoking a muffled, wanton moan which sent a spark of heat through his bloodstream.  “Oh shit, babe,” he groaned, hips slightly bucking at the sensation.

Seth smirked around the other man’s velvety member, and he surged forward, sliding more of the delectable cock into his mouth with an appreciative hum.  He swirled his tongue around the length, gliding up the thick vein on the underside as the Samoan lightly thrusted into the wet heat.

Roman peered down, a moan of his own escaping his lips as lust-blown doe eyes stared up at him through fluttering lashes.  The sight of Seth on his knees, spit-slicked lips wrapped enticingly around his sex was enough to almost send him over the edge, and he gently pulled the two-toned head back, his cock slipping out of the man’s mouth with a wet _pop_.  He cupped Seth’s bearded jaw in his hands and leaned down into a sultry, open-mouthed kiss, the musky taste of himself shared between their intertwining tongues.

“ _Roman_ ,” Seth mewled as they broke apart, panting for breath.  “ _Please._ ”

Sensing his cue, Roman tucked his member back into his jeans and pulled the other man up, ushering him to hop onto his lap as he gingerly rose to his feet.  As Seth locked his long legs around his waist, he reached down and grasped the other man’s firm ass in his palms in support, kneading and squeezing the pert cheeks through _entirely_ too many layers of fabric. 

A broken moan passed through Seth’s reddened lips, and he nuzzled into the larger man’s neck, sucking wet, gradually purpling bruises to the tanned column.  “Am I your good boy?” he breathily questioned between nips, honeyed voice raspy and _oh-so_ seductive.

“Oh yeah, baby,” Ro replied, a yearning, full-bodied shudder wracking his frame.  “Now let me show you how good you _really_ _are_.”

* * *

 

_“Did we really have to come here?”_

_Colby side-eyed the auburn before returning his gaze to the flickering, neon “PSYCHIC” sign hanging in the window of the tiny shop, heart skipping a beat at the thought of potentially finding the solution to their… **little problem** (as he so eloquently put it).  “It’s worth a shot at least,” he shrugged, “and that girl said Joe used to come here often, so maybe this guy can give us some answers.”_

_Jon rolled his icy orbs and took a drag off of his cigarette, scowl set in place.  “Y’know, this guy’s my competition around here.”_

_“Dude, when’s the last time you even performed your act?  Competition my ass.”_

_“Well, if my partner wasn’t such a flake…”_

_“If your partner didn’t have a **real** job, you mean-”_

_“Excuse you, street performing **is** a real job!”_

_“Okay, and **when’s** the last time you filed your taxes?  Last I remembered, you needed a paycheck to do that.  Not tips out of a top hat.”_

_“I can rake in four-hundred in a week-”_

_“I make sixteen-hundred-”_

_“Now now, boys.  You’re scarin’ off the customers.”_

_The bickering pair whipped their heads toward the source of the unexpected comment, matching expressions of utter confusion plastered across their heated faces.  Seth surveyed the area, an imaginary tumbleweed blowing across the boardwalk in his mind.  “Customers?  We’re in fuckin’ no-man’s land out here.”  He returned his stare to the strange, long-haired man who had appeared in the doorway, sizing him up and down with a calculating gaze._

_Beside him, Jon took a final drag off of his smoke and flicked the smoldering butt over the railing.  He exhaled the bluish plume and stepped forward, extending a hand toward the unwelcome intruder.  “Windham,” he greeted through gritted teeth._

_The not-so-stranger smirked and grasped the proffered appendage in a firm grasp.  “Jon.”_

_Colby’s eyes widened in realization, and he extended his own hand in offer of a greeting.  “I’m Col-”_

_“Colby Lopez.  Yes, I’m aware,” Windham grinned behind his impressively bushy beard, dropping Jon’s handshake and replacing it with the smaller man’s.  “I sensed that you two would be visiting.”  He stepped to the side, ushering the duo to enter.  “Please, come in.”_

* * *

 

The pair stumbled down the hallway, Seth’s legs wrapped vice-like around the larger man’s waist.  They stopped once or twice, Roman pressing the two-toned into the wall as they rutted in need, breathy gasps and moans escaping their clashing mouths.  Their shirts were long-forgotten in the living room, thrown haphazardly over the back of the sofa in their rush, and they explored each other’s bodies, fingers mapping each muscle, each divot, each story of a scar. 

Roman’s mind was a jumble, no coherent thought reaching the precipice except for the utterly inebriating sensation of hot, wanton lust.  He let out a carnal growl of desire as they finally reached the bedroom and gently deposited the smaller man on the bed before climbing on top to nestle between his spread thighs.

“R-Ro,” the younger gasped, gazing down at the Samoan as his jeans were quickly unzipped.  A rush of cold air hit his freed cock, but the harsh chill didn’t last long as Roman lowered his head, sucking the engorged member into the wet warmth of his mouth.  “Ah, Ro!” He whined, reaching down to gently tug at the other’s raven locks.  He curled his fists into the silky tresses and guided the man’s mouth along his aching cock, gasping for breath as stars flooded his vision.  “So fucking good, baby,” he slurred, hips slightly bucking into the tight heat, “f—ah—fucking _amazing_.”  He let his head fall back onto the pillows, brown and blonde hair fanning out in a crude halo.

The raven hummed appreciatively at the compliment and slid off of the other man’s member, tongue flicking out to swirl around the reddened head like a lollipop.  “ _You’re_ amazing,” he breathed, letting the muscle dip into Seth’s slit to collect the pearly essence that flowed free from his pulsing sex.  Salty, yet sweet, musky and _oh so delectable_.

Seth gently tugged at Roman’s locks, silently leading the man to pull off, before raising his hips to shed his pesky jeans and boxers, fully exposing his lower body to the other’s lewd stare.  He sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and raised one of his hands, crooking a finger in a “come hither” motion.

Roman complied willingly and slithered up the man’s toned body, his once-silvery orbs now almost completely overtaken by lust and fixed steadily on Seth’s matching pair.  He surged forward and once again captured the other’s lips with his own, their moans mixing together in a symphony of raw passion.

“Ro,” Seth gasped, pulling back from the intense lip-lock.  He grasped one of the man’s large hands in his own and slowly guided it down and between his own legs, breath hitching in his throat as the raven extended a finger to gently press against his puckered entrance.  He leaned forward, hot, panting breaths ghosting over the shell of Roman’s ear.  The tender prodding was driving him absolutely wild with want, and he mewled hungrily, bearing down on the slowly circling appendage, the overwhelming need to be filled erasing all other thoughts or notions from his cloudy mind.  “Babe,” he whined, tongue flicking out to trace the other man’s ear in a wet caress.  “ _I need you_.”         

* * *

 

_With curious eyes, Colby took a gander at their surroundings, absorbing the various odds and ends collected throughout the dimly illuminated shop which were shielded from view to the outside world.  Bookcases stuffed to the brim with titles such as “Final Beginnings” and “A World Beyond” lined one of the walls, sitting opposite a glass counter which was filled with an array of intricate glass bowls and pipes, their multicolor swirls casting a rainbow blur through the glossy surface.  Numerous tapestries littered the walls in vibrant shrouds, and everywhere one would step, they were bound to run into a wind-chime or dreamcatcher hanging from the ceiling.  The cloying scent of exotic incense tickled the man’s nose, and he sneezed once, the beginnings of a headache starting to claw at the back of his skull._

_“So,” Windham started, coming around to stand in front of the pair.  “What is it that brings you boys to my little corner of the earth today?”_

_Jon rolled his eyes and scoffed.  “Shouldn’t you already know that?  Bein’ a psychic and all, I’d figure-”_

_“Yes, I’m quite aware that you’ve come for assistance on the matter of one Joe Anoa’i.  However, I am… **intrigued**.”_

_“Intrigued?” Colby asked, cocking his head to the side._

_“What are you, a parrot?” Jon snapped, throwing a shady glare toward his friend.  “Can we just leave now?”_

_“Now, now,” Windham interrupted, waving the irked man off with a ringed hand.  He rounded the glass counter and reached up to pluck a weathered, leather-bound book off of the shelf nestled above.  “I’m aware that you two are planning on accessing Joe’s mindscape, but unfortunately, I cannot be of any assistance,” he explained, lazily flipping through the yellowed pages.  “My gift lies in reading others—their emotions, their needs, their **utmost desires**.  I was, unfortunately, not blessed with the ability to project as you two have.”_

_Colby frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, a heavy sigh escaping his pursed lips.  “Well, that’s it then, I guess.”_

_“Okay, thanks for your help, Windbag,” Jon grumbled, turning to clomp out of the shop.  “Fuckin’ fake, that’s what he is-”_

_“Settle down, little lamb,” the bearded man shushed, causing the auburn to halt in his stride.  “ **I** may not be able to help, but I do know someone who can.  She’s perhaps one of the world’s most powerful clairvoyants, and, as fate would have it, she makes her home here in Pensacola.”_

_“Oh, great!  Because you know I’d trust one of your friends…”_

_“Just shut up,” Colby grumbled, completely at his wits’ end, before stepping up to the counter.  He directed his attention back to the shop owner.  “This friend of yours can really help us?  I mean, we’re kinda in a bind here, and we’ve only just now been able to enter the dreamscape.  So, I’m not even sure if we’d be able to reach the last plane-”_

_Windham continued flipping through the book until he suddenly stopped, a bright smile illuminating his dark features.  He plucked a lone card from between the pages and held it out in offering.  “For you, dove,” he interrupted the two-toned’s rambling, gesturing for the other man to take the proffered object._

_Colby hesitantly reached out and grasped the card, bringing it up to his eyes to inspect in the dim lamplight._

_“What is it?” Jon asked, returning to the shorter man’s side to peer at the alluring object.  When Colby didn’t reply, he rolled his icy orbs and snatched the card out his clutch, twisting his hand back and forth to glance at both of its detailed sides.  “The Moon?  A fuckin’ tarot card?  That’s all you’re giving us?  Told you he was a fuckin’ fake-”_

_“Do you understand, lamb?” Windham questioned Colby, completely ignoring the auburn’s disgruntled muttering._

_Plucking the card out of Jon’s grasp, Colby once again lifted the item to eye-level, scrutinizing it with a cautious gaze as not to miss any detail.  He caught a glimmer of silver out of the corner of his eye and squinted, scanning the fine, embossed script just below the printed scorpion at the bottom of the card.  Breath caught in his throat, he stilled, heart on the verge of escaping his rapidly tightening chest as his eyes raked over the loopy cursive again and again. **It can’t be...**_

_“Colbs, what is it?” Jon prodded, noticing his pal’s uncanny resemblance of a statue.  “Colby?”  He leaned over and trained his eyes on the silver lettering, making out each syllable in ardent concentration.  “My-uh-koh-dah—”_

_“ **Me** -uh-koh-dah… Miakoda Chen.  Mia…”_

_The auburn furrowed his brows, recalling the name from previous conversations.  “Wait, it isn’t…”_

_“Mia.  M-my friend from back home.” He paused, swallowing.  “Windham, a-are you su-” Colby started, but as he looked up, the words fell off of his tongue in an astonished whisper._

_Windham and the shop were nowhere in sight, instead replaced by the cries of seagulls and the ocean’s waves as it washed over the shoreline._

_They were back on the boardwalk._


	17. Three Not-So-Simple Words

Darkness.

Something so intangible yet all-encompassing. 

Numbing. 

Suffocating. 

Crippling.

The whisper of voices upon the gale echoed through the man’s ears.

 _Help me_ , cried the wind, _help… **please**_.

He tried to reach out to the voices, but his appendages were anchors, tied to the sodden sand beneath his frail body.

Twisted eyelids forced open, a slice of light passed over his lifeless orbs, a silhouette shadowed in the background.

_He’s breathing._

Pain.

A stab to the gut. 

A bullet through the temple. 

A noose around the neck.

_…ielle, they’re on—way._

A gentle touch ghosted over his forehead, passing through salt-soaked locks of ebony.  He tried to train his focus on the mysterious angel, but twilight soon overcame his blurred vision.

_Losing him… needs to stay conscious…_

_…be here soon_

_Hang on…_

_… fading_

Darkness.

* * *

 

Roman awoke with a start, chest heaving and limbs reaching out for purchase against the blankets he was nestled within.  His calloused palms smoothed over the wool fabric, and he clutched at it, trying to bring himself back into reality.  With a feeble groan, his eyes fluttered open, the muted light of a rainy day casting a gray shadow across the bed.  He blinked a few times, batting off the fog of sleep, and took in his surroundings with a pained view.

No mixed tresses fanned out on the other pillow.  No tanned body huddled beside him.  No adorably light snoring echoing through the otherwise silent space.  No Seth.

He was in his own bedroom, in his own lonely apartment, the grainy remains of the sensual dream slowly fading from his conscience.

Staring at the ceiling and running his hands through his disheveled locks, the raven let out a weary groan.  What _the fuck_ was happening?  Why was he having these dreams?  First Dean, now Seth.  Sure, he was completely, absolutely head-over-heels for the eccentric man and his peculiar eyes, but Seth?  Roman couldn’t deny that they had a close bond, forged from their strikingly similar situations of being thrown into an environment they’d never imagined to be in in the first place, but was their relationship more than he’d thought?  Was he gaining feelings for the quirky bartender, or was he just frustrated from the lack of a warm body to share his bed?  It _had_ been quite a while, but that was beside the point.  Where were these dreams coming from?  The visions seemed almost too… _real_.  He could _feel_ the tension, _smell_ the pheromones, almost _taste_ the sweat—the man gave a narrow glance toward his groin.  “We are _not_ getting into this again.”

But back to the pressing matter at hand.  Roman felt in pieces, as if he was being torn apart from the inside.  As if something or _someone_ was shredding his mind, pulling and twisting his psyche into bits and scraps.  More often than not, he found himself reaching for the orange bottles lining his medicine cabinet, trying to find _some_ release from the prison of flesh and barbed wire he was encased within.  His brain was a jumble of broken records and faded postcards, his heart a tangle of knotted thread.  But Roddy.  _Roddy_.  Just that short period spent gazing into those haunted eyes, trepidation chilling his spine, had felt so… _liberating_.  The swirling cosmos that glittered in his orbs were a beacon of hope, an unfaltering guardian which called to him from beyond.  Beyond _where_ , though?  He wasn’t quite sure.  And Brittany.  Sweet, enigmatic Brittany with her freckled cheeks and crooked smile.  Smart as a whip, yet so… _foolish_.  Dean hadn’t seemed the type to just invite strangers into his home, but there she was in all of her strange, offbeat glory, so to speak.

The faint beginnings of yet another headache scratching at the back of his skull prompted the man to leave his cocoon, the hardwood floor cold beneath his bare feet as he padded toward the bathroom.  He stood in front of the medicine cabinet, hands braced on the edge of the sink as he stared at his broken reflection—the tangled, ebony locks cascading over his slumped shoulders, the straight line of his mouth, the crows’ feet at the corners of his hollow eyes.  With a scowl, he flung the cupboard open and grabbed the first bottle he found, twisting the cap and depositing a few pills into the palm of his hand.  He swallowed the tablets dry, the chalky residue leaving a tinny aftertaste of chemicals on his tongue, before hurriedly replacing the bottle and closing the door.  The reflection that met him startled the man, and he stared in bewilderment, a hiccup of a sob caught in his throat as hot tears began to prick at his gray orbs.

“ _T-tīna_?” he croaked, fingers reaching out to tentatively trace the weathered lines of his mother’s echo—the gentle smile that lit up her face in a ray of sunshine, the soft waves of her honey-hued tresses, the ocean’s swirling depths in her warm eyes.  “Mom?” 

When the reflection nodded, he whirled around in disbelief, lunging out to crush the woman in a loving embrace.  The Samoan’s childlike grin fell, though, when he was met with air, the chill of a missed encounter prickling his flesh in horripilation.  His jaw quivered as the proverbial dam finally burst, trails of silvery tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.  Violent sobs racking his weary form, he wept openly, knees buckling as he sank to the tile in a crumpled heap.  “ _Mom_ ,” he whimpered brokenly, holding his head in his trembling hands, “ _help me_.”

* * *

 

_“So, where are we meeting this chick?”_

_“ **We** aren’t meeting her anywhere,” Colby clucked, snapping his phone shut with a clunk.  “ **I** , however, am meeting her at the café this evening.”_

_Jon snorted and took a drag off of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in wispy rings.  “Oooh, it’s a date then, eh?” he teased, elbowing his pal in the side.  “You sly dog.”_

_The two-toned rolled his eyes and pushed the other man off of him with a scowl.  “No, strictly business.”_

_“You haven’t seen this girl in what, six, seven years?”_

_“Ten, actually.”_

_“Ten?!” the auburn exclaimed, startling a few gulls that had been picking at an abandoned waffle cone._

_The gaggle crowed, irritated at having their meal disrupted, and fluttered away to snoop around the vacationers amassed on the shoreline._

_“But really, ten years?” Jon continued, eyes wide._

_“Yeah,” Colby shrugged, reaching up to brush a lock of platinum out of his vision.  “Last time I saw her was back in high school.”_

_“In Iowa?”_

_“No, on Kilimanjaro.”_

_The eccentric blew a raspberry and stubbed the butt of his cancer tube out on the bottom of his boot.  “Har har, smartass.  But huh.  Do you think she’ll recognize you?”_

_Colby frowned slightly.  “Not sure, honestly.  It’s been a while-”_

_“Ten years worth of a while.”_

_“Yeah…”_

_Jon watched intently as his friend seemed to lose himself in memory, a frown of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth.  “Hey,” he started softly, stopping to reach out to grasp the other man’s arm and pull him back into the present.  “Why are you so worked up over this girl?  You guys part on bad terms or somethin’?”_

_The two-toned shook his head with a sigh, pausing in his stride.  “No, not really,” he replied, “It was just hard seeing her go, y’know?”_

_Jon nodded, indicating for the other to continue._

_“After her father passed, she just wasn’t herself anymore.  She was so… **lifeless**.  Like, we used to go out on walks or go to the mall and goof around, but after that, she just kinda faded away.”_

_“Well, it’s pretty understandable.”_

_“Yeah, I know!  No… like I totally understood why she distanced herself.  I would too if I was thrown into a situation like that.  But then she started purging, and I didn’t know how to help.  I- I was just kinda lost, and it’s insanely selfish of me… but I just wanted the old Mia back.”  He paused, seeming to collect his muddled thoughts before proceeding.  “Her mom had family down here in Pensacola, so Mrs. Chen decided that it would be best to move to be closer to them.  I don’t blame her at all, honestly, because it’s better to stick with family in hard times-”_

_Jon scoffed but tried to cover it up with a weak cough when Colby threw a pointed glare his way._

_“Anyway, when she told me they were leaving, it wasn’t even in person.  I just remember sitting there dumbfounded as the operator came over the line asking if I needed any help.  I felt fucking paralyzed.  Couldn’t believe that I was going to lose my best friend.”  He sighed, chewing at the inside of his cheek out of habit.  “Her birthday was around the time that her father passed, so I didn’t have the chance to give her the gift I got.  We kinda fell out of touch for a couple months after it happened.  I didn’t mean to, but since she took a leave of absence toward the end of the semester, I had to refocus on my homework to make sure I passed._

_“The day they were set to leave, I raced over to her house.  Fuckin’ blows when you’re on a stupid Huffy bike and have to pretty much travel across town ‘cause your car’s in the shop with a leaky exhaust.  Stupid piece of shit Sable.  Of course it’s the middle of friggin’ July, so I’m a sweaty mess by the time I finally get there.  She’d never looked so beautiful to me, standing there in her patchwork sundress handing a box over to her mom to pack in the trunk of their van.  I remember the look in her eyes—she was surprised to see me there as much as I was relieved to see that they hadn’t left yet.  I raced over and hugged her as tight as I could, wishing that I could just take her home with me and that she wouldn’t leave me behind.  She- she started crying, and I did too.  I didn’t want to lose her, and I told her that.  She said she was sorry and promised to e-mail me before her mom came over to tell her that they needed to hit the road; it’s a long-ass drive from Davenport to Pensacola.”_

_The auburn listened attentively, never having heard Colby’s recollection (even after years of friendship)._

_“She got in the car and rolled the window down, telling me that she’d talk to me soon and that we’d always be friends.  It’s not that I didn’t believe her, but it was hard to imagine never seeing her again.  Before they left, I gave her the gift.  It was stupid, really—a pair of silver, feather earrings I saw at one of the local craft shows—but when I saw ‘em, I immediately thought of her and how she’d always wanted to just grow wings and fly away.  Just be free to live her life and get the hell outta Iowa.  When she opened the box, her face lit up into the brightest smile I’d ever seen.  It took my breath away.”  He paused, reliving the memory in full detail.  The flowery scent of Mia’s perfume, the sparkle of tears in her eyes as she opened the gift, the van’s taillights gradually fading into the distance.  “Watching them go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.”_

_“You guys didn’t speak after that?” Jon prodded lightly._

_“Wha-?  Oh, uh, yeah.  For a while, at least,” Colby replied with a solemn nod.  “But with it being my senior year, I was starting to get focused on college applications and shit and didn’t really have time to reply.  I-I mean, I could’ve **made** the time, but I was just so preoccupied with getting into med school and all.  It isn’t like Mia tried to reach out either, though.  She was busy getting involved at her new school.  Last time we talked was when she told me about getting one of the lead roles in their production of **Rent**.”_

_“ **Rent**?  Really?”_

_“It was a pretty liberal school.”_

_“Well,” Jon started, pulling another cigarette out of his crumpled pack and lighting the end with a flick of his lighter.  “Seems like she was doing pretty well for herself.”_

_The two-toned nodded again, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.  “Y-yeah, she was. **Is**.”_

_“ **Is**?  There somethin’ you’re keeping from me?”_

_“Nah,” Colby chuckled for the first time in the past couple hours, waving the other man off.  “But knowing Mia, she’s sure as hell making a better life for herself.  Nothing can hold her down for too long.  And hey, I guess something good **does** come from tragedy, what with being a clairvoyant and all.”  The man turned and resumed his leisurely gait, Jon falling into step beside him._

_“Yeah, I guess so,” the auburn shrugged, puffing on the end of his smoke.  “So, you gonna let me know what’s up after your date tonight?”_

_“Business meeting.”_

_“Ugh, a’ight.  After your ‘ **business meeting** ’?”_

_The younger man rolled his eyes and playfully punched his pal in the arm.  “Of course, asshole.  You’re pretty much strapped in for the ride anyway.”_

_“Well, make sure not to skimp on any of the details, okay? **Especially** the dirty ones.”_

_Jon was met with a less playful jab for that remark._

_When the pair finally reached the parking lot, they parted ways, Jon shooting off down the tourist-littered street on his crotch rocket as Colby slid into his own coupe.  He closed the door and tossed his keys onto the passenger seat before dropping his head into his hands with a heavy sigh.  In just a few hours’ time, he’d be in the presence of his best friend.  Well, **ex** best friend, he guessed.  His mind was a jumble of loose thoughts.  **Would** she recognize him?  Would **he** still recognize **her**?  Would they be able to rekindle their lost friendship, or would it just be like those stereotypical, awkward reunions that rom-coms boasted in their trailers?  He wasn’t entirely sure, but, for some strange, odd reason, he was willing to endure the potential heartbreak… as long as it helped Joe in the long run._

* * *

 

Darkness.

He felt numb.  Blissed.  Euphoric.

The stars shone so brightly, their twinkling bodies eclipsing his field of vision in a comforting haze. 

He was weightless.  As light as a feather, as airy as the clouds rolling across the skyline.

_Roman._

A familiar voice broke through like a siren, piercing the speckled sky in a bolt of jagged light.

_Roman._

There it was again.  An echo resounding through his detached skull.

_Roman._

The voice was growing increasingly louder, penetrative and almost deafening in the near-silence.

_Roman!_

He came to with a violent gasp, chest heaving as his lungs drew in labored breaths.  The man blinked rapidly, eyes trying to focus on the source of the calamity until they finally settled upon Dean and his perturbingly terrified expression.  “D-Dean?” he questioned through a cough, utterly confused as to why he was staring up at the auburn.  A firm warmth pillowed his head, and he sluggishly registered it as being the other’s lap.  “What are you doing here?”

Dean sighed, the deep lines of worry that creased his forehead softening in relief.  “Fuck, Ro,” he exhaled raggedly, cupping the man’s jaw in one hand while the other comfortingly carded through his onyx waves.  “I-I came over to see if you were alright after what happened yesterday.  Probably stood there ringing the bell for ten minutes before I remembered I had a key.”  He sucked in a shaky breath before continuing.  “I couldn’t find you anywhere until I checked the bedroom and saw that the light was on.  Anyway, what happened?  You scared the piss out of me.”

The Samoan shook his head.  He couldn’t tell Dean about the vision… not yet, at least.  “Must’ve blacked out or somethin’,” he replied weakly.  “Wasn’t feeling too well when I left last night.  Guess it finally caught up to me.”

After a lengthy evening in shared revelation with Roddy, the eccentric had a pretty good idea of what happened.  He nodded slowly, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over the stubbly jaw beneath his touch.  “C’mon,” he started, “let’s get you back to bed.”

Roman’s eyes fluttered closed as he nuzzled into the warm contact, a contented smile gracing his features.  “No,” he whimpered pathetically, longing for more of Dean’s pleasant caresses.  “J-just let me lay here for a few.  I promise I’ll go back to bed.”

Dean quirked a wistful smile of his own, the hand at the back of Roman’s head gently tangling itself deeper into the ebony locks.  “Alright.  But just for a little while, okay?”

“Okay,” came the muted reply as the larger man gradually descended into dormancy.  A few, silent moments passed before Roman spoke up again, his voice a whisper.  “Dean?”

“Yeah, Ro?”  The auburn leaned forward slightly, lowering his head to catch the sleep-drugged speech.

“I love you.”

 _Fuck_. 

 


	18. Reunions

_Colby had spent the rest of the afternoon in front of the mirror, the entirety of his wardrobe slung across the bed as he critiqued his own reflection with a scowl._

_“What do you even wear to something like this?” he questioned aloud, lips twisted in a frown.  He turned toward the bed, hands on his hips.  “What do you think, Kevin?”_

_The tiny Yorkie’s ears perked up, and he padded across the bed, snuffling at the scattered garments before flopping down onto a pair of tightly-pressed chinos._

_“Well, that was helpful,” the man muttered, turning back to study the most recent outfit he’d thrown together.  “Is this too much?”_

_The pup sighed in reply._

_“Ugh, I can’t just show up in sweatpants, Kev.  Girls care about that stuff, right?  Like, ‘hey, I haven’t seen you since high school, so I decided to wear the shittiest thing I could find to show you just how much I missed you.’”_

_If Kevin could talk, he probably would’ve told Colby that he was out of his mind, but as he couldn’t, the terrier snorted and closed his eyes, choosing instead to doze in escape from his owner’s antics._

_Glancing down at his watch, Colby let out a yelp of panic as he noticed that a good amount of time had passed.  With only an hour left before his date, ahem, “ **business meeting** ,” he still had to brush his teeth, comb out the wavy mess of his hair into something more presentable than a bird’s nest, and make it to the café all before five o’clock; Mia was always a stickler for punctuality.  Deciding that his current ensemble would have to do, he rushed into the adjoining bathroom and quickly brushed his teeth before pulling his hair into a sleek bun.  With a final glance in the mirror, grumbling about the time he could’ve spent trimming up his scruff, he shrugged and sped out to grab his keys off of the bed._

_“How do I look, Kev?”_

_The Yorkie peered up in indifference, annoyed at his owner for interrupting a fantastic dream, before shaking his head and resuming his light slumber._

_“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Colby chided, leaning down to press a peck to the pup’s fur.  “I’ll be home later.  Don’t wait up.”_

_Kevin snored in reply._

* * *

 

_The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow across the shoreline when Colby finally returned to the boardwalk.  Garbed in a white button-down and salmon-colored skinnies, he felt a tad out of place compared to the beachgoers in their bikinis and board shorts, but he shook his head, reminding himself that he was there on business.  Upon reaching the Lava Java, he looked around the outdoor seating area, a bit saddened when none of the customers there resembled Mia in any way, shape, or form.  With a sigh, he entered the small café, instantly greeted by the din of whirring dispensers and laughter from those who’d opted to sit inside and enjoy the A/C.  He approached the counter and began tapping along with the beat of a light jazz tune, his fingers producing a rhythmic thump against the wooden surface.  Fleeting thoughts flew through his head.  Am I overdressed?  Is she going to think that **I** think this is a date?  What if she’s already here but got into an accident and is completely disfigured?  Why do all coffee shops use the same radio station?_

_“Well, hey again!” A familiar voice greeted, snapping the man out of his daze._

_Colby glanced toward the source, having to suppress a groan as Brittany appeared behind the register._

_The waitress glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowed in confusion.  “Where’s your boyfri—sorry, ‘friend with benefits?’” she questioned, fingers hooked around air quotes._

_“Contrary to popular belief, we **aren’t** attached at the hip,” the two-toned replied with a roll of his eyes.  “But if you must know, I’m here on business.”_

_“Oh, **business**?” the girl prodded, emerald orbs positively aglint with curiosity.  “What kinda business?”_

_“You’re rather intrusive.  Can’t you just take my order?”_

_“Sorry, sorry,” she replied sheepishly, pecking at the order screen with a manicured finger.  “Just been a slow day, and I’m bored out of my mind.”_

_Colby glanced around the shop, taking note of the crowded tables and chattering patrons.  He turned back to the waitress, brow quirked.  “You call this **slow**?”_

_Britt chuckled, eyes trained on the register.  “Slow for me, anyway.  Been working here a few months, and this is nothin’ compared to the **summer** rush.”  She tapped on the “complete transaction” button and held out her hand in anticipation.  “It’ll be $5.98, sir.”_

_“$5.98?”_

_“Well, yeah.  Venti French vanilla cappuccino, right?  $5.98.”_

_“But I didn’t even place my order?”_

_The waitress grinned and blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes.  “Well, you got a Caffè Latte this morning, so if memory serves, you’d have ordered a capp anyway.”_

_“What?  How did you—”_

_“I’m just good at picking up on patterns,” she shrugged.  “Next time your boyf— **friend** comes in, he’ll get a chai latte.  So, it’ll be $5.98.”_

_Colby pursed his lips and pulled his wallet out before pushing a crumpled ten into the girl’s hand, defeated.  “Uh, keep the change.”_

_The girl smiled brightly and handed Colby’s receipt over.  “Wow, almost a fifteen-dollar tip in one day from the same customer?  What kinda work you into to be able to afford that?”_

_“I’m a physical therapist,” he replied, turning to lean against the counter as Brittany set to work on making his beverage._

_“Ain’t that a busy profession?  You’re in here quite a lot for a doctor.”_

_“I’m not a doctor.  Well, not **yet**.”_

_“Ah, I’m sure you’ll get there someday!” she beamed over her shoulder.  “So, what kinda business meeting are you here for again?”  The girl turned around and slid the steaming mug across the counter._

_Colby huffed.  “I didn’t even tell you.  It’s not really any matter to you in the first place.”  He grabbed the cup and took a tentative sip, pleased with the milk-to-espresso ratio.  “You’re quite nosy, you know that?”_

_“I’ve heard that before.  Indulge me, though.  I’m bored out of my mind here.”_

_Resigning himself to the fact that the girl wasn’t going to let up in her insistent prodding, he rolled his eyes and made himself comfortable against the counter.  “I’m meeting a friend that I haven’t seen in years.  We kinda drifted apart after she moved away.”_

_“Oh, so it **is** a date, then?”_

_“No!” the two-toned exclaimed with a huff.  “I was hoping that she could help me with this issue that’s been plaguing me for a while now.”_

_“You didn’t go see Mr. Rotunda?  I wasn’t expectin’ you to follow my advice or anything, but you really should go ask for a reading.  I promise he’ll be a big help-”_

_“I **did** , and he **couldn’t**.  So, he referred me to someone else who could.”_

_“Ah, your friend?”_

_“Yeah,” the man muttered before taking another sip from the steaming mug.  “Apparently a lot has happened in the past ten years.”_

_“Ten **years**?!” Brittany exclaimed, slapping her hands down on the counter in disbelief.  “You **do** know that telephones exist, right?”_

_Colby jumped back, a bit of capp sloshing out of the mug and onto the floor.  “Ah, fuck,” he cursed, grabbing a few napkins from the dispenser and bending down to clean up the mess.  When he rose, he was startled by the girl leaning across the counter and into his personal bubble, their noses barely touching.  “Uh, can I help you?”_

_Britt pulled herself back and grabbed the soiled napkins, depositing them in the trash bin behind her.  “But really, ten years?” she continued, mouth agape.  “How’d you two drift apart for so long?”_

_“I mean, stuff like that happens all the time—”_

_“Were y’all, y’know, **together**?”_

_“What?” he questioned, dumbfounded by the waitress’ glaring lack of restraint.  “You’re delving into some personal shit right now, so if you’ll please excuse me—”_

_“Oh no, y’all couldn’t‘ve been.  You’re gay, right?  With Jon, wasn’t it?”_

_“What?  No!  Well, I don’t know what I am.  But Mia and I never dated, and for the thousandth time, you half-brained Daisy Duke, my relationship with Jon reaches no further than ‘fuck buddies,’ okay?”_

_“Is this a bad time?”_

_In the midst of their heated conversation, neither of the bickering pair had noticed the newcomer.  Colby turned toward the source, eyes growing as wide as saucers as he realized that he’d just made a complete ass out of himself.  “M-Mia,” he stuttered, hesitantly setting the mug on the counter with a clink.  He drank in the sight of her with awe—the close-crop of her once-flowing, brunette locks, the gentle roundness of her porcelain features, the rosy blush creeping over her cheeks… the dangle of silvery feathers from her earlobes.  “Hey.”_

_“Hey Colby,” she greeted softly, a hint of sadness in her almond eyes.  “You needed some help?”_

_With a knowing grin, Brittany set to work cleaning the pastry display, one ear trained on the couple’s reunion._

_Colby clenched his fists by his sides, willing himself not to reach out and wrap his arms around his friend.  “You look nice,” he said awkwardly, mentally smacking himself for the lame remark._

_Mia rolled her eyes and brushed past the man with a smirk, but not without giving him a gentle pat on the arm.  “You do too.  Wanna find a table outside?  I’ll meet you there in a few.”_

_“Sure!” he agreed, perhaps a bit too eagerly. **Jesus, calm down**.  Grabbing his mug off of the counter, the man sped out of the café, heart beating just a tad quicker than before._

_“So, **you’re** the long-lost friend?’” Brittany questioned, approaching the register.  “Business meeting, my left foot.  Man practically had hearts in his eyes when he saw ya!”_

_Mia furrowed her brows and brushed the waitress off with a hand.  “Yes, this is a business meeting.  I haven’t seen Colby in years.”  She glanced up at the menu board, eyes rapidly scanning over the swirling script, before deciding on a simple black tea.  “And hearts in his eyes?  I doubt it.  Not like he’d wait for me—”_

_“Wait for you?  But he said y’all weren’t together.”_

_“No, we weren’t,” she sighed wistfully.  “After we stopped talking, I didn’t think I’d ever see him again.  Not like I didn’t want to, though.  …wait, why am I telling you this?  You’re quite intrusive.”_

_A sly, toothy grin broke out across Britt’s features, an impish hint of mischief in her eyes.  “You know, I **have** heard that before.”_

* * *

 

_The reunion was, unfortunately, not going the way Colby had initially intended.  Instead of shared laughter and fond reminiscing, the only sounds to be heard were the rolling waves and the faint clinking of Mia’s spoon against the rim of her cup as she stirred a packet of sweetener into her tea.  The near-silence was grating on his nerves, and in a moment of irritation, he set hit mug on the table and leaned forward, stopping the girl’s agitating motion with a grasp of her wrist._

_Mia pursed her lips and gently removed the man’s hand.  “Colby,” she started, a hint of annoyance in her voice, “I’m busy.”_

_“Busy with that?  You’ve been stirring your tea for like five minutes now.”_

_“Well, I **was** doing a reading, but I guess I don’t have to to know that you’re still an impatient **ass**.”_

_Colby huffed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms in defense.  “Me? **I’m** the ass?  You’re the one who—.”  A sharp glare his way quickly shut the man up._

_“You want to go ahead and get down to business?  Okay.  I think what you’re attempting to do is incredibly foolish, and I really don’t want to have any part in it—”_

_“A’ight.  I guess that settles it, then—”_

_“Let me finish,” she clucked before taking a sip of her cooling beverage.  “As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, I’d rather not get involved in this mess at all, but my gut is telling me that it would be best to try and assist you in any way that I can.”_

_The man cocked his head to the side, intrigued.  “And what kind of assistance does this entail?”_

_Mia sighed.  “Well, as fate would so have it, I have access to your patient.  Actually, **my** patient now.”_

_“ **Your** patient?  You mean Joe?”_

_“Jesus, Colby.  Nothing gets past you, right?  Yes, I mean Joe.  He’s one of my residents at the care center.”_

_“You’re a nurse?”_

_“Registered and everything,” the girl smirked over the rim of her mug._

_Colby furrowed his brows and drummed his fingers against the scruff of his chin in contemplation.  “So,” he started slowly, “what you’re telling me is that, uh, what are you telling me?”_

_Mia screamed internally.  “What I’m **trying** to tell you is that I, a registered nurse-slash-clairvoyant, have access to one Joe Anoa’i and can help you project into his mindscape.  It’s incredibly unethical, and I have no idea why I’m even offering this service to you in the first place—”_

_“You’re actually going to help?  Like, you aren’t shitting me right now?”_

_“I shit you not, genius.”_

_Something was off about the entire situation.  Why would Mia be willing to help, even after ten years of zero contact?  Was the proverbial other shoe about to drop?  Colby was on the edge of his seat, heart skipping a beat._

_“You can really help me get into the mindscape?  Jon too?”_

_“Your ‘fuck buddy?’”_

_Colby cringed._

_“Yeah, I think I can do that.”_

_“And you aren’t asking for anything in return?”_

_Mia snorted and drained the rest of her tea with a gulp.  “Oh, honey,” she began, a wily lilt to her tone, “you’ve got ten years worth of returns piled up.”_

* * *

 

Thankfully, getting Roman up and back into bed wasn’t much of an issue.  His drug-induced confession, however?  Yeah, that _was_.

Dean was at an absolute loss.  Instead of the expected jubilation that came with admissions of love, he felt somewhat somber.  Sure, his heart had practically leapt from his chest at Roman’s words, but was it romantic?  Or was it just the fact that Dean had somehow, if even by fate, been there for him in his time of need?  Did the other man see them as potentially becoming more than friends, or was Dean dead-set on his path to a life of pining and empty beer bottles?  These thoughts spun through his head as he sat at the foot of Ro’s bed, glancing over once or twice to check that the man was still breathing.  He knew the real cause of Roman’s blackout, and honestly, it terrified him.  Sure, the narcotics hiding in the medicine cabinet had a pretty big impact on the situation, but he could practically _feel_ the environment crumbling around them.

 _“The longer we’re here, the less of a chance **we** have of getting out.”_  

Seth’s remark haunted him, gnashing and clawing at his conscience like an untamed beast, but aside from that (and his current situation with Roman’s surprising confession), there was something else nagging at him that he just couldn’t quite put his finger on.  He wracked his brain, puzzling and puzzling over what in the world he could possibly be forgetting, until in an _aha!_ (or _oh shit!_ in his case) moment, he remembered Seth’s request to check up on their little problem of memory possession.

“Fuck!” Dean hissed, jumping to his feet and scurrying from the bedroom.  He paused in the doorway to look back at the sleeping Samoan, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.  Without a second thought, he padded over to the man, reaching down to lightly caress his slightly creased forehead.  “I’ll be back, Ro,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the other’s temple.  He examined Roman’s face—the sharp curve of his jawline, the glimmer of a scar on his brow, the taut bow of his lips—with bated breath and, as if on instinct, let his lips fall upon the man’s set in a tender graze. 

Sparks coursed through his bloodstream, his veins thrumming with life as the rest of the world seemed to melt away.  If just this tiny touch brought so much emotion flowing through him, then what would happen if it was actually reciprocated?  His heart was soaring, the scars of the past fading away into nothingness. 

He felt… free. 

With reluctance, Dean pulled back, brushing his thumb over the other’s plump, bottom lip.  “Roman,” he breathed, swooping down for another swift, secretive kiss. “I love you too.”

 


	19. Vanishing Act

“Y’ello?” Seth greeted, phone wedged between his shoulder and cheek as he scanned the bottles lining the shelf behind the bar.

“It’s me,” a familiar, gruff voice spoke up over the line, causing the two-toned to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, I guessed that by the caller ID, genius,” he chided, glancing up at the wall clock.  “It’s only three.  Figured you’d still be asleep?”

Dean made a face on the other end and took a drag off of his second cigarette in the past ten minutes.  His throat burned uncomfortably, but he couldn’t evade the habit.  “Yeah, got some shit I need to take care of—”

“What kinda ‘shit’ is that?” Seth interrupted, scribbling _Jäeger_ on his notepad.  _How do we go through so much of that junk?_

“Gotta go back and look up that information you wanted.  Y’know, memory possession or whatever?”

Seth’s eyes widened in realization.  Damn, he _had_ asked Dean to check that out.  “Well, fuck.  You’d better get a move on, then, Dean-o.  Did you tell Roddy and Britt that you were leaving?”

“Yes, mom,” the auburn scowled.  “Told ‘em I had business up in Clarksburg and wouldn’t be back for a few days—”

“Clarksburg, really?  What kind of business would you even have up there?  The local asshole convention in town or something?”

“A’ight, I’m hanging up now,” Dean sniped, irritated at his pal’s constant interrupting.

“Hang on!” Seth exclaimed hurriedly, almost dropping the phone in his haste.

Dean’s thumb was poised threateningly over the “end call” button.  “The fuck is it?  I gotta go.”

“Dean, does Roman know?”

The auburn crinkled his brow and scuffed the toe of his boot against the sidewalk.  He _really_ didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Dean?”

“No,” he finally muttered, tossing the butt of his smoke into the storm drain.  “Didn’t think he should.”

“What?!  You didn’t think he _should_?  What the fuck are you talking about, man?  You _know_ that anything out of his control sets him back.  Jesus, you can’t just up and leave without telling him—”

“It’s not like I’m gonna be gone forever!”

“You don’t _know_ that.  Y-you… something catastrophic could happen here that sets him back _and_ builds up his barriers even more.  You remember how much trouble we had getting in, even with Mia’s help.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and sighed heavily, the weight of the situation an excruciating pressure on his already tense shoulders.

“Besides,” Seth continued, almost on a whisper, “you _do_ realize that you’re the most important person in his life, right?”

The eccentric sucked in a ragged breath.  “Don’t… don’t say that.”

Seth let out a sigh of his own, the _whoosh_ of air a static fuzz through the receiver.  “It’s true, Dean.  Jon.  The red string doesn’t lie.  I’ve seen it.  _You’ve_ seen it.  Roman needs you now more than ever, and if you just up and leave without telling him, even if just for a few days—”

“Just fucking stop with that shit already!”

A wall of tension erected itself between the pair, and the bartender gasped, taken aback by his friend’s sudden outburst.  _What the **fuck** is going on with him?_   “Jon, I don’t understand you.  If-if you really cared about him…”

“I do,” the other man murmured, carding a hand through his unruly locks, “but I don’t deserve him, Colbs.”

“What are you even sayin—”

“I don’t, okay?  I’m fucking trash.  I-I’m worthless.  Why would someone like him even be connected to me in the first place?  He has everything.  A family who loves him, a fuckin’ career, a college diploma—”

“Yeah, and he also has a dead mother, a bum leg, and fifty-thousand in school loans.  So, what’s your point?”

“I think my past has him beat,” Dean retorted, rustling in his jacket pocket for his crumpled pack of Marbs.  He pulled a tube out of the soft-pack and pressed it to his lips before lighting the end with a quick spark.  “Not even the Sami shit.  We can go all the way back to my ill-fated conception—”

“Really, Jon?” Seth hissed, slapping his notepad down on the counter in ire.  “You _really_ want to make this about your childhood?  You want a fuckin’ pity party when Joe’s laying in a goddamn nursing home right now with half a fuckin’ mind?”  He was met with silence.  “Okay, go ahead and make this about you, but I ain’t stoppin’.  _I’ll_ figure out how to wake him up, with or without your help.  Soulmates… hah!  Yeah fuckin’ right.  I’d like to think if _I_ was practically brain-dead that the person I loved would have my back.  Guess it just goes to show what a self-centered prick you really are.”

On the other end of the receiver, Dean slumped, the cigarette in his loose fingers dwindling to ashes.  Seth’s statement spun through the man’s head like a top, the pointed end boring a gnarly hole through his already littered sub-conscience.  Each syllable left a sour taste in his mouth, and he grimaced at the bile working its way into his throat.  _Sticks and stones_.

“Ah, so you can’t even manage one of your snide remarks?  The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Dean-o?”

“You don’t have _any_ idea what’s going through my head right now,” the auburn grit out, words laced with venom.

“Well, try me,” Seth retorted, Dean’s never-ending flip-flopping grating on his last nerve.  “’Cause I’m getting’ real tired of you running away from shit that you don’t wanna deal with.  Especially Roma—”

“I kissed him, Seth.”

 A few beats of silence passed between the two as Seth let the newly revealed information sink in.  He absentmindedly scratched at the scruff on his chin, testing out a reply on his tongue.

“You, uh, you did?”

“…Yeah”

“That’s it?”

“Uh, yeah?”

Seth blew a stray lock of platinum out of his eyes with a huff.  “Well, how was it?  Who initiated said smooch?  Were his lips soft?  They look soft… Did he keep his eyes open or closed?  Were you standing or sitting?  Did he hug you?  Was his breath bad?  I can only imagine yours with your damn ashtray mouth—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ ’20 Questions’?” Dean interrupted, a bit irritated by his pal’s incessant prodding.

“Hey, don’t condemn me for being curious!  So, did he kiss you back or just leave ya hangin’?  Tongue or no tongue?  Were his eyes open?  This is such a huge step, Dean!  I can’t believe you finally got the balls to do it, man.  After listening to Roman babble on about how he thinks about fucking you in the shower for the past week, I can finally sleep peacefully… even though that image is pretty damn hot, to be honest—”

“He thinks about _what_?”

“Ah, it’s nothing!  So, c’mon.  Fill me in with the juicy details.”

“There aren’t any!  ‘sides, I ain’t panderin’ to your jerk-off fantasies, assbag.”

Seth rolled his eyes at the childish insult and blew a raspberry into the receiver.  “Fine, fuckface.  Can’t blame me for bein’ interested, though, what with Ro’s ‘ _I love him, but he doesn’t want me’_ bullshit—”

“He what?” Dean interrupted, a slight tremble in his usually steady voice.

“He loves you, Dean,” the half-blonde repeated, serious.  “I told ya, man.  The red string doesn’t lie.  Ro’s felt its pull, and you’ve felt its pull as well.  It’s time that you guys just finally accept it.”

The auburn glanced down at his thread, squinting as he tried to make out the invisible knot of the thread connecting his own pinky finger to Roman’s.  “I don’t see shit,” he mumbled.

“What are you talking about?!” Seth questioned, flabbergasted.  “I spelled it out for you!  L-O-V-E.  Roman, no, _Joe_ is in _love_ with you.  It’s pretty fucking obvious.  Just the other day, he was drooling over your nuts like a squirrel—”

“I don’t see the string.  Never have been able to.  I’m startin’ to think you’re just making this shit up—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“No, seriously.  The only time I saw it was in your dream, but since then?  Nada, zilch, zero.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” the bartender sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.  “You really think I’m making this up?  Shit, I’d take a picture of it if I could just to get you to believe me.  _Or_ are you just trying to deny your feelings?  You’ve gotta move past Sami, Dean.  He’s been haunting you for too long.  Let it go, or you’re never gonna get better—”

“Oh, don’t fucking start with the ‘Sami’ shit, okay, Seth?  I’m so goddamn tired of you pulling him into every conversation, especially when it comes to Roma- _Joe_!  He’ll figure shit out eventually.  We’re just here to help him along.  Jesus, you’re the one who brought me into this mess in the first place.  Have you already forgotten the damn plan?  Or was there even one in the first place?  Also, Roddy fucking knows!  Y’hear that?  Apparently when one of Ro’s needs touches him, they learn what their purpose in this fucking hellhole is!  Did you know that, or were you just waiting to see what happened?  I can’t believe you brought me into this shit without even being one-hundred percent sure about what we were getting ourselves into.  At this rate, Ro’s just gonna fucking _die_.  Do _you_ want that, Colby?  Do you?  How many more needs ‘ve gotta be fulfilled?  Christ, why do _I_ know more about this than you?  You’re the one trained in this shit!  God-fucking-damn it, Colby.  I can’t do this anymo—”

“What’s going on, Dean?”

Seth’s eared perked up at the newest voice floating through the receiver, blood running cold as he recognized the velvety baritone that could have belonged to only one man.

“ _Shit_ ,” the duo hissed in tandem as Dean whipped around to face the newcomer.

The Samoan’s brow was furrowed, mouth a thin line.

“R-Rome,” the auburn stammered, heart thudding in his chest.  “I-I thought you were aslee—”

“Pretty hard to sleep when there’s a screaming asshole outside,” Roman interrupted through gritted teeth.  “Or should I say, a _lying_ screaming asshole.”

Dean gulped heavily, stomach dropping like an anchor.  He brought his hands up in front of him and took a hesitant step back as the scorned man approached.  In his haste, the battered phone slipped out of his sweaty palm and clattered to the ground, bouncing on the concrete until it lay just a few feet away.  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking abou—”

“Like hell, Dean!” Roman exclaimed fiercely, nostrils flaring and fists clenched at his sides.

The younger man flinched and cowered like a beaten dog, the choke-chain of Roman’s anger a tightening grip around his neck.  He took in a few, shallow breaths and steeled himself for the inevitable blow-up to come.

“Don’t even try and play dumb with me, _boy_ , ‘cause I heard everything!” Ro continued, eyes ablaze.  “I’ve known, deep in my gut, that you two have been keeping secrets from me, and I, for one, am gettin’ real tired of this shit.  So, I’m gonna give you two options: either ya come clean and tell me everything, or you get out now and never come back.”

Dean winced at the man’s harsh demand, the double-meaning slicing through his guilty conscience like a knife.

Seth did a silent Hail Mary on the other end of the line, thankful that the connection hadn’t been lost in Dean’s panic.  He cupped his other hand over his ear, trying to block out any outside noise so as to listen more intently to the unfolding conflict.

“I’m giving you five seconds to make up your mind.  _One… two… three_ —”

“Fine!” the eccentric finally shouted, expression twisted in agony.  Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, his heart strangled in his chest.  “This isn’t real!”  He gestured toward the cold world around them—the dilapidated buildings, the ever-overcast sky, the mounds of dirty slush piled against the cracked sidewalks.  “All of it!”

Roman quirked a brow in confusion, taken aback by his friend’s odd statement.

“Nothing here is real!  Except for you, me, and Colby.”

On the other end of the forgotten phone, Seth gasped, shocked by the sudden confession.  “No… no, Dean,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.  “No!”

The floodgates finally burst, hot tears running down the auburn’s flushed cheeks in great rivulets.  He wept against the words coming out of his mouth, the truth rushing upward like seawater’s escape from resuscitated lungs.

“Who’s Colby?” the raven questioned, bewilderment plastered across his face.  “Dean, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“I’m not Dean,” the scruffy man confessed with a sob.  “My name’s Jon, Seth is Colby, and you’re Joe Anoa’i.  This place is just a figment of your imagination.  Y-you’re in a coma back in Pensacola after you tried to kill yourself by jumping off the pier.  Colby, your physical therapist, wanted to help you, so we projected into your mindscape to sorta push things along.  But we’ve been here way too long, and things _aren’t_ getting better.  You’re going to _die_ , Joe, if we don’t get you out of here.”

Roman’s mouth gaped like a fish as he tried to form a reply to his pal’s bizarre explanation.  “Wh-what?  Are you drunk right now?  I don’t understand any of this.  Are you still lying to me?  Dean, all I want is for you to tell me why you and Seth are being so goddamn secretive—”

“I promise I’m not lying, Rom- _Joe_ ,” Dean sniffed.  “I’m finished lying to you.  You needed to know the truth.”  His icy orbs shined with such veracity that Roman’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Dea— _Jon_ ,” Ro started awkwardly, the name foreign on his tongue, “how long have you known this?  H-how long have you been hiding this from me?”

“About two years, give or take.  Time runs faster here than in reality, though.  Two years here is more like two months there.”

Roman’s mind was a jumble as it worked to sort out all of the new information Dean had thrown at him.  _Mindscape?  Reality?  Two months?_   He was absolutely, utterly perplexed.

“Joe, we need to fulfill your needs so you can get back to reality.  I already know of one of them, and I have a good idea of who another couple could be.  I need you to work with me, er, _us_ , though.  Me and Colbs.  We’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

A spark of heat rushed up Roman’s spine, and he grimaced, anger beginning to boil in his gut.  He felt conflicted.  On one hand, Dean had finally confessed the truths that he had been keeping from him, but at what cost?  He didn’t understand what the man was talking about.  Was he really Joe Anoa’i, lying in a hospital bed back in Florida?  He wasn’t really a pipeliner in the hills of West Virginia with a bad knee and even worse luck?  Was his mother still alive?  Who were Colby and Jon?  His brain felt as if it was being pulled apart, neurons firing at lightning speed as it kicked into overdrive.  He closed his eyes and breathed deep the mountain air, the scent of Dean’s cheap cologne, the dying, decaying leaves that fell from the knotty oaks, the nauseatingly depressing odor of a nursing home.

He knew.

A low, violent growl suddenly erupted over the receiver, the ferocity startling Seth into almost dropping his cell.  The growl steadily increased in volume, the deafening shrill of static absolutely pounding against his eardrum.  “D-Dean?” he squeaked, frantic, “Roman?  Guys!”  He could barely make out his friends’ garbled voices through the roaring white noise.  “Dean!” the man shouted over the din, his gut somersaulting in unease.  _What in the hell is going on?_   He frowned against the static as he strained to hear any signs of life over the resounding gale.  Heart quickening in its pace, his body felt contorted, pulled toward the source of the vicious turbulence until, unable to further stand the painful commotion, he dropped the phone with a clatter and hurriedly backed away from the device.  In his haste, the heel of his sneaker caught on a loose floorboard behind the counter, sending him crashing to the floor with a heavy _thud_.  Terrified, he scooted backward and into the corner, pulling his knees up to cradle against his thumping chest. 

The screeching noise continued to increase in amplitude until the entire bar was filled with its dreadful grating.  The building rumbled as if in an earthquake—the overhead lights swung by their chains, their yellowish bulbs casting a strobe effect across the brick walls, the windows rattled in their frames, and the ceiling began to crack in jagged, spidery lines.  Seth felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare as he shuddered and shook in the eye of the storm.  A horrified sob wracked his body, and he screwed his eyes shut as he let loose a wail of utter sorrow, his heart feeling as if it was being wrenched from his chest.  What was happening?  Were Dean and Roman safe?  As the fleeting thoughts raced through his mind, the blast finally reached its apex, the building seeming to crumble on its foundation.  The thundering squall held steady for a few, drawn-out moments until, as quickly as it began, it abruptly _stopped_. 

As the pub began to settle around him in creaks and groans, he slowly opened his eyes and took in the damage.  A fine flurry of dust floated in the harsh sunlight that filtered in through the window blinds, the minuscule specks drifting lazily toward the floor, and Seth blinked against the irritating allergen in an attempt to get his mind right.

“Okay,” he started slowly, a hiccup of a sob caught in his throat.  “What the _fuck_ just happened?”

The two-toned swabbed the briny tears from his flushed cheeks with the back of his hand, glancing around at his cluttered surroundings.  He tipped his head back and stared inquisitively at the ceiling, noting the cracked plaster with a disturbed shudder.  The hanging lights slowed to a gentle sway, their flickering bulbs casting an eerie glow across the bar.  A few stools had been overturned in the quake, and they lay among the handfuls of posters that had slipped off the walls.

A faint noise, akin to that of a wail, caught his attention, and he glanced toward the abandoned phone.  With shaky arms and legs, he scrambled toward the device and gingerly picked it up, carefully bringing the cell up to his ear.  The distant din of mangled weeping immediately filled his heart with sympathy.  _Oh, God.  Joe…_ He longed to cradle the broken man in his arms, to soothe his pain, to let him know that _everything was going to be all right._ He could _feel_ Roman’s anguish, could somehow _taste_ the sorrow, could trace the darkened lines of misery beneath his own skin.

“I’m so sorry, Roman,” he whispered, closing his tired eyes and slumping back against the counter in defeat.  “I’m so sorry.”     

There were no stars that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so hard to write, ugh. It's been sitting in my documents since February, haha. Things are finally starting to wind down as more truths are revealed!


	20. Doubts

_“So, what are we doing again?”_

_Colby glanced over at the other man with a scowl.  “We already told you like a thousand times, Jon.  Jesus fuck—”_

_From the front of the room, Mia opened her eyes, a pointed glare shot toward the chatty duo.  “Ahem.”_

_For the past hour or so, the three sat cross-legged in Mia’s living room, the curtains drawn and a scattering of candles lit around them.  The dulcet tones of a meditation CD played softly in the background, the babbling brook and quiet chimes a peaceful white noise against their own thoughts.  When Mia had offered assistance in the matter, Colby had been entirely grateful, willing to go along with whatever “voodoo crap” (as Jon put it) she had in mind.  As for the auburn, though, he wasn’t quite as, er, **open** to the new experience._

_“We’re working on finding our inner-peace, Jon,” the woman bluntly stated, stretching her legs out in front of her.  She plucked at the pilled fabric of her sweatpants, flicking the tiny balls of gray at the men.  “It’s rather basic, really.  Figured you guys would’ve had it down by now, what with being capable of projecting into the dreamscape.”_

_“Well, this shit ain’t workin’,” Jon scowled, resituating his baseball cap over his unruly mop of curls.  “We’ve been here for, what, an hour?  The only thing I’ve found is that my chest wheezes when I breathe too deep and that I’ve gotta piss like a race-horse—”_

_“Maybe if you laid off the smoking—”_

_“Maybe you should mind your own business—”_

_“Guys.”_

_The bickering pair glanced up at the girl, balking at the odd way her eye twitched in irritation._

_“Well, if it helps any,” Colby started, leaning back on his forearms, “the only reason **he** was able to project was because after knocking me out, he had a panic-attack—”_

_“Hey!  When you’re balls deep inside someone and start thinking about the future, you’re bound to freak out.”_

_The girl cocked a brow.  “I really **don’t** need the details.”_

_With a huff of contempt, Jon rose to his feet.  “I’ve gotta piss.  Where’s the john?”_

_“Down the hall, first door on the left,” Mia pointed, rising as well.  “I’m going to put on a pot of tea.”  She padded into the adjoining kitchen and began to rustle around, the telling cacophony of a kettle being filled echoing into the living room._

_Jon disappeared down the hallway, a disapproving Colby hot on his heels._

_“What the fuck is **your** problem?” Colby spat, leaning against the open doorway as the other man set to business.  He crossed his arms over his chest and impatiently tapped his foot against the carpet, awaiting Jon’s response._

_“I don’t **have** a problem,” the auburn replied nonchalantly from over his shoulder.  A pleasured sigh escaped his lips, the unyielding pressure in his bladder finally relieved.  “Fuck, that feels better.” _

_The two-toned rolled his eyes.  “Like hell you don’t.  Mia’s going well out of her way to try and help us, and you’re being really fucking ungrateful right now.”_

_Jon flushed and re-zipped his jeans before turning to face his fuming friend.  “I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate right now—”_

_“And you offered to help me with this.  I mean, you probably **should** anyway, especially considering that Joe is your soulma—”_

_“Oh, don’t fucking start with that shit!” Jon snapped, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.  “Jesus Christ.  Just lay off, man.”_

_Colby sighed, blocking the doorway as the other man tried to take his leave.  “This isn’t about Joe, is it?”_

_The auburn paused mid-stride, his jaw working in frustration.  With a sigh of defeat, he began.  “It’s Sami—”_

_“Are you fucking kidding me?”_

_“No.  He called a couple days ago.  Begged me to go back to Ohio and start over… again.”_

_The younger man scowled, fists clenched at his sides.  “And you said?”_

_“Fuck no.  I told him to get the fuck over it and never try and contact me again.”_

_“Good boy.”_

_Jon glowered.  “ **Good boy**?  What am I, a fucking dog?”_

_“Aw fuck, I didn’t mean it that way—”_

_“Yeah, go grab your shovel and dig yourself an even deeper hole.”  The auburn peered down at his hands, examining the arcs of his fingernails.  “That, uh, that isn’t all, though,” he continued, refusing to meet the other’s curious gaze._

_“Go on…”_

_“I’m just—fuck—how do you know that this soulmate shit is for real?”_

_Colby quirked a brow.  “Well, I, uh—”_

_“See, you **don’t** know, do you?  You say that you can see the connection between us, and shit, **I** saw it in your dreamscape.  But how do I know that it wasn’t, well, a dream?  I-I’m not saying that you threw it in there to make me help you, but uh—”_

_“Well, it **does** sound like you’re saying that.”_

_“I’m not!  I-it’s just… fuck, Colby.  If this **is** real, I don’t think I could stand the rejection.”_

_“Rejection?”_

_Jon sighed, still not meeting Colby’s eyes as he picked at the skin around his fingernails.  “After all’s said and done—after we bring Joe back—who’s to say that he wants **me** as his, uh, ‘soulmate’?”_

_“Jon, really—”_

_“Colby, I-I don’t deserve him.  I’m a fucking loser with a past that could put Charlie Sheen’s to shame.  What if he’s disgusted?  Wh-what if I’m not **good enough**?”_

_“But you **are**.”_

_The duo glanced up and back at Mia as she appeared in the hallway, a steaming mug of tea clutched in her hand._

_“Sorry for intruding, but you’re sending out some pretty intense emotions right now.”_

_The auburn let out pained laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “Fuck.  Of course, **psychic**.”_

_The nurse shrugged apologetically.  “Can’t really help it.  Like I said, though—emotions… **intense**.  I’d ask what’s bothering you, but—”_

_“Psychic,” Colby finished for her._

_Mia nodded an affirmation and took a sip of her tea.  “Jon,” she started, staring pointedly at the auburn, “you can’t let your trepidation impede you.”_

_“My what do what?”_

_“Your doubts deter you from your destiny.”_

_The eccentric rolled his eyes.  “Psh, yeah, my **destiny**.  I’m so sick of this shit.  God damn it, Colby.  This is all your fault!”_

_The two-toned took a step back, confused.  “What?  How’s this **my** fault?”_

_“You’re the one who asked me to help!  Shit, if I wouldn’t have signed up for this, then everything would be back to normal!”_

_“ **Normal**?  Are you hearing this, Mia?  ‘Jonathan Good’ and ‘normal’—two words I’d never thought I’d hear in a sentence before.”_

_Jon crossed his arms, fuming.  “Now, listen here you little shi—”_

_“Stop it!” Mia exclaimed, stepping between the clashing duo.  “You guys are giving me a hell of a headache.”  She rubbed gingerly at her throbbing temple, eyes squinted in pain.  “Could you guys just **please** get on the same page?  For **me**?”  She paused, seeming to weigh the words on her tongue.  “…For **Joe**?”_

_The men separated, sending sheepish glances toward the clairvoyant._

_“Jon, I understand that you’re scared,” she began, reaching out to place a comforting hand on the auburn’s tense shoulder, “but **you** need to understand that Joe probably feels the exact same way.”_

_“What do you mean?” Colby questioned, skeptical._

_Mia took another sip of her tea.  “Think of it this way,” she replied over the rim of her mug, “Joe’s lost.  He’s gone through so much emotional trauma, from losing his career to his mother—God rest her beautiful soul—passing away.  His entire world was crumbling around him, and he believed that the only way out was through death.  Now, I don’t know why he chose jumping off of the pier of all things, but thankfully, he was rescued before it was too late.  The thing is, though, is that only his physical form made it back.  Now, it’s up to us to bring his spirit back as well.  He’s trapped, and he **needs** our help.”  She paused and took another careful sip before continuing.  “Jon, you’re not the only one who’s terrified in this situation.  Just remember that Joe is worlds away, trying to make sense of his surroundings and come to terms with what he truly needs to return.  He needs **success** , he needs to be **free** , h-he needs to be **seen**.  He needs to be, well, **needed**.”_

_Colby scratched at the scruff of his chin, pondering the nurse’s words.  “How do we make sure he gets all that, though?”_

_“You read Grünewald’s theory, right?”_

_The two-toned nodded._

_“His **entire** theory?”_

_With hesitation, he shook his head._

_“Figures.  Well, I’m guessing you at least got through the chapter where he talks about processing needs in the mindscape?  I mean, it **was** chapter four, after all.”_

_“Hey!  Don’t blame me for having a short attention span.  That thing’s as big as a New York phone book.”_

_Mia rolled her eyes and continued.  “ **Anyway** , later on—in chapter eighteen, if I’m remembering correctly—he explains this part of the theory more in-depth.  Grünewald believes that a patient’s needs manifest in the form of people who have a connection to them.  Those manifestations must successfully achieve that goal inside of the mindscape, be it personal success or freedom or whatever else the patient needs to escape.  Each need’s successful completion of their own goal helps build up the patient’s environment, thus furthering their journey back to reality.”_

_“That sounds like a bunch of hot garbage,” Jon grumbled, entirely unconvinced by the woman’s explanation._

_“Oh, just stop it alrea—”_

_“Actually, he’s not wrong, Colby,” Mia shrugged.  “While yes, Grünewald **is** the top researcher and theorist of astral projection in the world, he’s the only one who’s actually performed such a feat.  Or at least tried to.”_

_“ **Tried to**?  You mean, he hasn’t even successfully brought someone back?”_

_The nurse cringed, partially hiding behind her mug.  “Well, he, ah, he **is** very respected in the field…”_

_Jon threw his hands up in frustration.  “Oh ho ho, this is great!  First, Colby wrangles me into this mess by convincing me that Joe is my ‘soulmate,’ and now that Grumblefucker guy is just a fuckin’ quack!  Of course!  Man, I’m a dumbass for letting you guys pull me into this shit.  Fuck this.  I’m out.”  He pushed past the pair and headed back into the living room, cursing under his breath all the while.  “Fuckin’ nut-jobs, y’all are.  I don’t know what you laced that tea with, but I ain’t tryin’ it…”_

_Colby heaved a sigh and chased after his pal, throwing an apologetic glance back at Mia.  “Jon, c’mon—”_

_“No!  Fuck you guys, fuck that German fuck, and fuck this ‘Paranormal Activity’ shit.”  He slipped into his sneakers and grabbed his jacket off of the coat rack before trudging toward the door, letting out an angry grunt as Colby blocked the exit.  “Move.”_

_“No,” the two-toned refused, crossing his arms and leaning back against the door.  “You don’t get to storm out of here like a bitch until you’ve apologized to Mia.  She’s just trying to help us.”_

_“Help **us**?  There is no ‘us’ anymore, Colby.  I told you, I’m out.”_

_“Jon, **please**.  W-we haven’t even really started!  Okay, yeah, maybe no one else that we know of has successfully attempted Grünewald’s theory, but who’s to say that we shouldn’t at least **try**?  What’s the point of living if we don’t try and help others in their times of need?  **Especially** when we have a means of doing so?”_

_The auburn opened his mouth, ready to reply, before Colby interrupted._

_“If you don’t want to do this for me, then that’s fine.  But you **do** need to do this for Joe.  Th-this might his only way of coming back, and I’m not gonna just sit back and watch him die—”_

_“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Jon questioned, cutting the other man off before he could continue.  “Don’t.  Y-you’re **really** in love with him?  That’s why you started talking about that ‘red string of fate’ shit in your dreamscape.  You’re head-over-heels in love with him, but I’m…”_

_“ **You’re** his destiny, Jon,” Mia finished, softly padding up behind the pair._

_Colby bowed his head, ashamed at having been caught red-handed._

_Jon turned to face the clairvoyant, eyes alight in utter confusion.  “What?”_

_“I can **feel** it, Jon.  Trust me.  I wouldn’t lie to you, just as I wouldn’t lie to Colby.  And if you don’t believe me, then maybe we should pay Joe a visit.  That way, you can see for yourself.”_

_The older man glanced back at his friend, noting the weary way his body slumped against the door in defeat.  “Y-yeah,” he nodded, “maybe we should.”_

* * *

 

_Where am I?  Who am I?  Why do I exist?_

_Life’s greatest, yet unanswerable questions._

_We are but flesh and blood and stardust, littering the planet like far-distant galaxies.  Awaiting our inevitable demise in our endless race to catch the sun as it rises and sets each day._

_But oh, how brightly we shine, like a million diamonds strewn across the blanket of the ocean, twisting and bobbing along the current of our destinies._

_The man, though, was lost… his destiny clouded by illusions of grandeur.  He longed to be wrapped in the stars, to breathe the cosmos, to be bathed in the light of supernovas._

_Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea et a peccato meo munda me._

_But all he saw was darkness._

_Breathe in._

* * *

 

_As the Prius turned into the parking lot of the rehab center, Jon’s gut churned uncomfortably.  Giving his pal a quick glance, he noticed that Colby looked about as worse for wear._

_“Well, here we are,” Mia nodded, navigating the sedan into an empty spot toward the front and shifting into ‘park.’  “I’m gonna run in and tell the girls what’s up.  You guys look like you might need a minute.”_

_The trio exited the vehicle, and the nurse entered the stony building, leaving Jon and Colby to awkwardly scuff the toes of their shoes against the sidewalk._

_“So,” Jon started slowly, rubbing at the back of his neck.  “I guess we can’t really back out now.”_

_The two-toned let out a humorless chuckle, eyes darting back and forth between the asphalt and the few residents perched smoking at the low picnic table by the front doors._

_“Colbs, c’mon.  Talk to me,” the auburn pleaded, heart sinking._

_“I don’t really have anything to say.”_

_Jon frowned, rifling through his pockets for his lighter and pack of cigarettes.  He finally extracted one and lit the end, puffing in the harsh chemicals as the smoke encircled his head like a wispy wreath.  “I, uh, I kinda put you on blast back there,” he said through an exhale, the whitish puff of toxins smacking Colby dead-on._

_The other man scowled and batted at the offending smoke, nose scrunched in distaste.  “Ugh, I really wish you’d quit that shit.”_

_“The smoking or the calling you out?”_

_“Both, preferably.”_

_The auburn sighed, tossing his half-smoked Sonoma into the parking lot.  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his baseball cap off to run a hand through his hair.  “I-it just kinda clicked, y’know?  Why would you care so much about this guy if you didn’t have feelings for him?”_

_“I di—”_

_“Colby, how long have I known you?  You **wouldn’t**.”_

_“Yeah, you’re right,” Colby frowned, plopping down onto the curb and resting his head in his hands._

_“I am curious, though,” Jon continued as he dropped down to sit beside his friend, their knees knocking together, “Once you found out that you, uh, **weren’t** Joe’s… why did you keep pushing so hard for this?  Fuck, call me selfish, but I don’t know if I could’ve gone on.”_

_“That **is** kinda selfish, actually,” the other man replied, peering over.  “I-I guess… fuck, man.  Even if I’m **not** destined to be with him, I want the best for him.  I’m not gonna lie to you and say that it didn’t hurt like hell when I found out, but when you love someone, you should set ‘em free.”_

_“Well, ain’t you a regular ol’ Shakespeare,” Jon chided, playfully punching the man’s arm._

_Colby pushed him over._

_“I just wanna know one thing,” the auburn continued, plucking a stray pebble off of the ground and rolling it around in his palm._

_“Hm?  What’s that?”_

_The man kept his gaze lowered, eyes transfixed on the glossy stone tumbling around in the cage of his fingers.  “This is, uh, this is for real, isn’t it.”  It wasn’t a question._

_“Yeah,” Colby exhaled, a slight tremor in his voice.  “Yeah, it is.”_

* * *

 

Jon awoke with a start, chest heaving and heart hammering.  His eyes darted around the room, taking in the white walls and pristine linoleum.  Where were the mountains?  The trees?  The slush clumped along the sidewalks in piles of gray?  Instead of the scent of crisp, winter air, his nostrils were invaded by the harsh odor of cleaning chemicals and sickness, the stench of death and decay infringing on the edges.

“R-Roman,” he croaked, throat as dry as a bone.  “Seth.  Roman.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” another voice whispered as a gentle hand smoothed over his curls.

The man blinked, slightly turning his head to gaze into a pair of concerned, almond orbs.  “Mia?  Wh-where am I?”

The nurse frowned, lines of worry crossing her forehead.  “You’re back at the rehab center, Jon.  Wh-where’s Colby, though?”

“Colby,” he gasped, eyes blown wide in horror.  The last thing he remembered was talking to him on the phone before Roman confronted him.  Before their argument.  Before he came clean.  “Oh, God, Mia,” he whispered, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, “Colby’s still there.”

 


End file.
